


Our Love Will Leave Us Battlescars (Rollercoaster Rewrite)

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teen Angst, Unconventional Families, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10930167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: || A rewrite of the original Rollercoaster HSAU. Updates Wednesdays. More information inside. ||In which a group of teenagers find each other, and themselves, and learn to deal with everything their lives can throw at them by having each other's backs.





	1. Arc One

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Here it is.
> 
> Some of you already know what's going on, others are probably new. The **tl;dr** is that Rollercoaster is being rewritten from the beginning. Read on for the long version, or just skip ahead if you don't care.
> 
> So, back in January or so, I started thinking about Rollercoaster again. I wasn't at a point of writing again yet, but I did want to read it, because I never stopped loving it, and as I read I got an itch in the back of my brain. It wasn't time _yet_ , but soon it would be.
> 
> In February, I did two more rereads. And a few more in March.
> 
> By April, I was ready to start writing again, but every time I tried to sit down I ended up staring at the point I left off and closing the file. I wanted to write, but I couldn't bring myself to just pick up where I'd stopped. So, after another reread, I realized that the reason was that I hated about ninety percent of the original. Oh, don't get me wrong, I still loved the story, but it was just... not that well written.
> 
> I've said from the beginning that the original was just the first draft, and I'd had every intention of rewriting it. Rereading it and seeing all the problems with it, I realized that the rewrite would have to happen before anything else. And that's where you guys come in.
> 
> So what can you expect from the rewrite that you didn't get from the original? Well for one thing the writing is going to flow a lot more smoothly. I'll also try to be better at catching typos, because I wasn't as good at that before. But there'll also be a lot of characterization that will be fixed, to account for things I changed or retconned later, plot points will be led up to better now that I know what I'm leading up to, and characters who didn't get much focus to begin with will move into the spotlight a lot sooner- Church, Tucker, Simmons, and South all move into being pov characters in the first arc, and Wash, Caboose, Doc, and Carolina will move into place in the second. Beyond the pov characters, others will also get developed more. And relationships that largely happened offscreen will be focused on a lot more too.
> 
> There will also be entirely new material. Each chapter- as far as I remember- will have at least one new scene in it. Some will have more. There are also two new intermissions, an entirely new mini-arc following the first arc, and more new mini-arcs to come.
> 
> For the first arc, new chapters will be posted on Wednesdays. There's no set time because my work schedule is too inconsistent. The schedule might change beginning with the second arc, depending on how much buffer I've created, but we'll burn that bridge when we get to it.
> 
> If you have any questions or want more information, please leave them in the comments, or contact me on Tumblr, either under wyomingsmustache or grifalinas.
> 
> Thanks for understanding, and I hope you all enjoy the new and improved Rollercoaster HSAU.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut appears, and Grif learns a secret.

Arc 1: Chapter 1

o/o

Grif is fifteen when Donut enters his life.

He has no idea where the kid comes from. One Saturday three weeks into his sophomore year, Sarge goes into town to get groceries, just like every Saturday, and when he comes home it’s later than usual, and there’s a boy with him. He’s about Grif’s age- maybe a little younger- and he looks worn down. He has rust-red hair falling raggedly into his eyes, his clothes have the look of having been slept in, and there are yellow, half-healed bruises up one arm. He’s tall and broad, but he also has a half-starved look to him that makes Grif feel a little uncomfortable.

He introduces himself as Franklin Donut and asks them to call him just Donut, and that is it. There is no explanation of who he is or where he came from or why he is there. When Sarge shows him to the guest bedroom- beside Grif’s, on the other side of a shared bathroom- it becomes apparent that he is going to be here for awhile.

Donut doesn’t talk much at dinner that night. He seems jumpy and tense, and by the way his hands clench around his fork, it’s clear he’s nervous. He opens up a little bit to Kai, though, and reveals that he has a small understanding of Spanish that only succeeds in leaving Lopez rolling his eyes.

That night, once everyone else has fallen asleep, Grif slips through the shared bathroom and taps on the door to the guest bedroom. He hears a muffled ‘come in’ and pushes the door open.

Donut is sat at the head of the bed, knees hugged to his chest as he stares blankly at the red comforter folded over at the other end. He glances up at Grif when he enters, and Grif realizes he’s been crying. At the intrusion, though, he scrubs away his tears and gives Grif a smile.

“Hi,” he says, a falsely cheerful note to his tone. “What’s up?”

“Uh…” Grif falters. He’d wanted to ask Donut privately what he was doing here, but in the face of the kid in tears he can’t do it. He doesn’t know how to deal with  _ feelings _ . “I- I just wanted to say goodnight,” he says instead.

“Oh. Good night.” Donut gives Grif a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, and Grif flees to the safety of his room. Maybe he’s a coward- maybe he could have offered to cheer the kid up- but he didn’t sign up to deal with  _ feelings _ .

-/-

“So Sarge just… turned up with him? Just like that?”

“Out of nowhere.”

He’s out at the fence with Simmons, where they usually spend their lazy Sunday afternoons. His head is pillowed in Simmons’ lap while Simmons plays with his hair, which is getting shaggy and will need to be buzzed down again soon.

A few months ago, the pair had broken into Sarge’s liquor cabinet and stolen a bottle of whiskey, which they spent the evening drinking by the fence. Grif had kissed Simmons and then thrown up on him, and since then absolutely nothing about their relationship has changed except that now Grif can hold Simmons’ hand and kiss him whenever he wants to.

Which is easily the best thing in the world.

He stretches out lazily and gives Simmons a sleepy grin. "Wanna come over and watch a movie tonight?”

“You know my parents don’t like having me out late on a school night.”

“Then come over early enough that we can be done in time for you to make curfew, duh.”

“Fine.” Simmons brushes his hand over Grif’s hair and leans down to kiss him. Grif grins into the kiss; it’s been three months, and he still hasn’t gotten used to being able to do that. He doesn’t think he ever will. “But we’re not watching the third Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie again.”

“But the third Vampire Mummy Werewolf movie is the best one!”

“It nearly killed the entire franchise before it could properly get started! If Williams hadn’t seen the potential in the first two and realized the true nature of the series’ charm, the other nine movies wouldn’t have ever happened!”

“You just can’t appreciate good art.”

“One of us can’t appreciate good art, anyway.”

-/-

Sarge makes Grif leave his door open if he and Simmons are in his room alone, so Donut sees them easily when he comes by on his way to his room. Grif is lounging in his armchair- an ugly orange monstrosity that he’d picked up cheap from Goodwill over the summer- with a boy curled on his lap. They’re watching a movie on Grif’s laptop, and he can see from where he’s standing that they’re holding hands, that Grif has his other hand up the other boy’s shirt. He freezes, and stares wide-eyed at the pair of them until Grif looks up and spots him.

“Hey, Donut!” he says. He beckons Donut in, and gestures at the boy in his lap. “This is Simmons, he lives in the big farm next door. Simmons, Donut.”

“Hi, Donut.” Simmons pulls his hand from Grif’s and holds it out to shake. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Um. I have to- to- I have to go.” He turns and flees to his own room, heart racing. Sarge comes up the stairs as Donut is ducking into his room, and Donut leans back against the door, waiting for the shouting to start. It never does. All that happens is Sarge barks a comment about Simmons having awful taste before his own bedroom door opens and closes. Donut stays frozen against his door before understanding dawns. He sinks down to the floor slowly, and wrings his hands nervously in his lap at the realization that Grif has a boyfriend, that he isn’t afraid to be open about this fact, and that it’s  _ okay _ . That no one  _ cares _ .

“Oh,” Donut whispers quietly, and draws his legs up to hug against his chest, burying his face in his knees when tears start forming. “ _ Oh _ .”

-/-

It takes almost a week for Sarge to get everything sorted so that Donut can start school at Blood Gulch High. In the meantime, Sarge takes him shopping in Spiral to buy new clothes, school supplies, bedding, and anything else he might need. He goes conservative on his clothes- polo shirts and jeans, the kind of clothes he’s always worn, all in red because it’s a nice solid masculine color that no one will look twice at. Good sneakers, a pair of slides, and a sturdy pair of work boots for the farm.

All nice, straight-laced clothes that won’t get him any second looks of the wrong caliber.

And all of them  _ awful _ . He gives a longing look at a bright pink screen-tee with the Fake AH Crew logo across the front before picking up a stack of Polo shirts and looking through them for his size, careful to keep them folded.

“Nice color selection,” Sarge grunts, coming back with a case of drinks tossed onto his shoulder. He drops into into the cart and eyes the clothes that Donut has picked out.

“Got enough?”

“Yes, sir.” Donut casts one last look at the AH shirt, and follows Sarge to look at the bedding instead. Sarge waits to one side, a little bored, while Donut looks through the various bed sets. There’s a wide variety, but the only one that really catches his eye is bright pink, with white ruffles. He walks up and down the aisle a few times, looking everything over, always coming back to linger on the pink set again.

Finally, with one last look at Sarge, Donut grabs the set with both hands and carries it over to the cart.

Sarge isn’t paying him any attention. He’s texting someone on his phone, but he looks up when Donut finally puts his selected set into the cart.

“That the one you want?”

Donut nods, and waits for a derisive comment that never comes. Whoever Sarge is texting has almost all of his attention; he just gives a grunt of agreement and mutters something about needing to get pencils and notebooks next. Donut watches him amble away, vaguely toward the stationary, and then, with a much lighter heart, pushes the cart after him.

-/-

On Donut’s first day at Blood Gulch High, Grif walks him to the office and leaves him with an order not to act like they know each other. Then he wanders off to homeroom and leaves Donut to get his schedule from the secretary, a clean-cut man with round glasses and neatly coiffed hair. The secretary gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Being new isn’t easy, is it?” he says. “This is my first year here, too. I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly enough.”

“I hope so,” Donut says, looking down at the simple map attached to his schedule. The secretary- Doyle- points him helpfully toward his homeroom, and he heads in that direction after calling a cheery thanks.

Five minutes later, the bell rings, and Donut is still in the middle of the hallway, squinting down at the schedule before looking up and around him, trying to figure out where his classroom is. The school’s layout isn’t exactly complicated- two floors, with the primary and elementary grades taking the bottom floor and the middle and high grades taking the upper. As each floor is, technically, only one branching hallway, it seems beyond the realm of reason that he could get lost so easily.

And yet, he has no idea where his homeroom is.

“Hey!”

Donut turns at the greeting, and then makes a short, soft intake of breath when he finds himself face to face with the prettiest boy he’s ever seen. He’s small and broad, untidy blond hair falling into silver-blue eyes, and a galaxy of freckles coating all visible skin. There’s a bandaid on his jaw and a half-healed scrape across one arm, and Donut can see two earrings in his right ear. There’s a bright yellow sash draped over his shoulders- a hall monitor.

A blush spreads across Donut’s face. He wills it away.

“Hi,” Donut says, fumbling for his schedule. He brandishes it hopefully. “I just started, I can’t find my homeroom. Can you help me, um…?”

“Wash,” he replies. Wash takes the schedule and looks it over. “Oh, okay, you’re with Cherry. You’re not far off, it’s right down this way. I’ll take you there, if you like.”

“Um.” Donut blushes again, and stammers a thanks, following Wash down the hallway to his homeroom. He finds himself staring at Wash’s back as they walk- it’s a nice back.

By the time Wash leaves him at his classroom, he’s gone bright red, and it’s a relief to hand his note to Miss Cherry, who gives him a welcoming smile and adds him to her roster.

Since homeroom seating is done alphabetically, Miss Cherry shuffles everyone around a little and places Donut at a table with an impossibly tall boy named Caboose, who keeps brushing unruly curls out of his eyes while he talks, a muscular girl named Church with violently green eyes and a grin like a shark, and a boy named DuFresne with neat cornrows and a pair of glasses held together by tape on one arm.

They’re nice, they’re friendly and welcoming when Donut joins them. The girl- Carolina- goes back to reading after only a moment. Caboose beams and calls him Crumbcake, and DuFresne says, hesitantly, that his name _isn’t_ Doc. Donut smiles and listens while they talk to him, and absolutely doesn’t notice how pretty their eyes are, or how full Caboose’s lips are, or the cute way DuFresne’s nose wrinkles when he’s thinking.

-/-

Tucker pokes irritably at the cafeteria-grade mashed potatoes on his tray. Church tries to grab one of his carrots; he smacks his hand away and mumbles something about stabbing him with his fork.

“I think Cappy’s boyfriend is trying to kill me,” he says, while Church grumbles at his plate.

Usually Tucker brings his lunch to school, because Cappy likes for him to eat healthy foods, but today he’d been in a hurry and got his boyfriend to pack it instead. He’d managed to pack an entire lunch of things Tucker is allergic to, forcing Tucker to buy his lunch from the cafeteria instead.

And it’s not even pizza day.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Church says, grabbing again at Tucker’s carrots. He succeeds this time, and gets a fork in his side for his efforts. “Ow! Bitch! I’m pretty sure he’s not  _ actually _ trying to kill you. It was an accident. You’re the one with way too many allergies.”

“I’ve only got a couple of allergies, and Cappy is really careful about keeping stuff I’m allergic to either out of the house or where it won’t get to me by accident. What are the odds that  _ everything _ he packs is part of that?”

“Tucker, you’re allergic to peanuts and citrus fruits. He packed you a pb&j and a orange. That’s hardly master assassin material, dude- he was just being lazy and uncreative. And that’s not a crime. If it was, Grif would be in juvie ages ago.”

“Well what about last week, when he knocked me into the pool?”

“You can  _ swim _ .”

“Yeah, but I could have hit my head and drowned-”

“There was a lifeguard-”

“-and the week before that, when he almost ran me over,” Tucker continues, ignoring Church’s protests. “I’m just saying, it’s a bit too often to be a coincidence. You think I should tell Cappy? I mean, Reggie makes him happy, but I don’t think he’d be too happy about me dying. I wouldn’t be happy about me dying.”

“Oh my  _ god _ , Tucker, you are not going to  _ die _ .”

“Just don’t bother coming to my funeral, bitch.”

“Is Tucker going to die?” The voice sounds far too pleased at the idea, and they both shoot glares as a tall freshman takes the seat beside them. Caboose isn’t exactly either of their friends, but he’d decided on the first day of school that he and Church are best friends, and they haven’t been able to shake him since then.

They decide to go their usual route of ignoring him and get back to their bickering, but before they can really build up any steam, Grif and Simmons join them, and then suddenly Caboose stands up and starts waving at someone coming out of the lunch line.

“Look, it is my new friend Crumbcake! Over here, Crumbcake!”

Church rolls his eyes. “Look, just because we let  _ you _ sit with us doesn’t mean you can go inviting just any-”

It’s too late, though. He’s already been spotted, and “Crumbcake” has brought his tray over to join them. Grif groans- Crumbcake is in fact Donut. He sighs when Donut stands over the only empty seat, the one across from Caboose, which would coincidentally put him sitting beside Grif.

“Okay,” Grif says, with the air of defeat. “You can stop pretending you don’t know me.”

Donut’s face splits into a wide grin, the first genuine smile Grif has seen on him since they met.

-/-

Donut settles. Things fall back into their regular monotony at home, even with their newest addition. Kai demands that Donut treats her like a little sister because if one big brother is so great, two must be twice as good. Grif follows up by ordering Donut not to get any ideas about thinking of him as a brother because, “Wey're not, okay, just because Sarge has a habit of bringing home strays doesn't make us related”. Lopez adds something deeply sarcastic and completely unintelligible.

They adjust.

-/-

Donut makes friends easily after that. Even Church likes him, and Church doesn’t like anyone.

Grif doesn’t tell anyone about the nights he hears Donut crying on the other side of their shared bathroom, or the fact that his ever-present smile only rarely meets his eyes.

-/-

The day after his sixteenth birthday, Grif takes his driver’s test and passes with flying colors. He celebrates by ‘borrowing’ Sarge’s jeep- and Simmons- and driving up to Valhalla, the nearest town to Blood Gulch and its sister city.

Valhalla isn’t that big a deal, not really. It’s almost identical to Blood Gulch in a lot of ways, except the existence of a waterfall where teenagers sometimes go to make out. It’s just the freedom of it, the fact that they are on the verge of adulthood and can make this decision. That they can just go, without needing to wait around for an adult to make plans.

They stop for lunch at a diner not unlike the one in Blood Gulch, and when they join the line the woman in front of them turns to glance at them before doing a double-take and looking closer. Her face splits into a wide, slightly manic grin.

“Hello!” she says, entirely too cheerful. “You must be Grif!”

Grif stares. “Um. Do I know you?”

“Oh, silly me~” she chirps. “I should have introduced myself! I’m Dr. Emily Grey. You are Grif, right? Sarge told me about you, I’d know you anywhere.”

Grif frowns. “How do you know for sure? I could be anyone.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” She smiles and waves his concerns away with another grin. “For one, you and your sister are the only Hawaiian kids around here, and you’re also being accompanied by an ethnically-ambiguous ginger.” (At her remark, Simmons ducks his head, a little embarrassed. She ignores him.) “For another, you have Sarge’s eyes and cheekbones and chin and ears. Oh, and most importantly, I’ve seen pictures! That made it kind of obvious, even without the other things.”

Grif stares at her, frozen in place, while she tilts her head and looks at him curiously. After a moment, he turns on his heel and storms out. Simmons hurries to catch up to him.

In the Jeep, Grif sits brooding for a moment before leaning over so he can see himself in the wing mirror. He ignores Simmons shifting uncomfortably in the seat beside him, instead staring at his face, at features he’s never given much thought to until now.

She’s right though. He does have Sarge’s eyes- the same honey-brown shade, a shade he’d always been fond of, if he was honest. He’s got the same bone structure too, for all that his face is fat enough to make it seem rounder, and not noticeable. 

And the ears- yeah, he’s got those too. He frowns. Now that he’s actually  _ looking _ , he’s seeing a lot of ways that he resembles Sarge. He’s not a spitting image, of course. But there’s way too much of Sarge in his face to be just a coincidence. And if he has so much of Sarge in him, then that can only mean…

...Simmons yelps as the jeep is slammed into reverse, and Grif throws it onto the highway back to Blood Gulch a little faster than necessary. Grif ignores him, though he does at least slow down enough to not get run over. He needs to talk to Sarge, and he needs to do it now.

-/-

Grif pulls the stolen jeep into its regular spot a little too quickly, and the brakes squeal and the tires protest and the gravel drive skitters with the force. Sarge slams open the screen door and hurries outside, a reprimand on his tongue over Grif taking the jeep to who-knows-where without so much as a by-your-leave. Oh, sure, he’d expected it, had done the same thing when he’d gotten his own license, and in all honesty he wasn’t that mad because it wasn’t that big a deal, really, what else were you meant to do when you were given your first taste of real adult freedom?

But of course the downside of real adult freedom is consequences, and judging by that entrance, those consequences will have to include paying the damages to the tires that Lopez will definitely be bitching about when he sees them.

He hesitates when he sees the raw fury on Grif’s face, though. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Grif  _ angry _ before; bitter, yes, annoyed, yes, cross, peeved, flustered, upset, yes, but never  _ angry _ , angry is far too much effort for a lazy boy like Grif.

Grif slams the jeep door like it’s personally offended him and by now Lopez is peering irritably out of his work shed, but Grif doesn’t seem to care. He’s striding angrily toward Sarge, Simmons following slowly behind him. Simmons looks uncomfortable, like he really doesn’t want to be here but he is because Grif  _ needs _ him to be here. In the background, he can hear Donut and Kai, attracted by Grif’s angry driving.

“ _ Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you’re my father _ ?!” Grif demands, glaring at Sarge like he’s contemplating decking him.

...oh.

Shit.

-/-

Lopez takes Kai and Donut away. They get ice cream, he thinks, or at least he thinks he hears the word ice cream, buried in Spanish he can’t understand. It doesn’t matter, not really. This is just the sort of conversation that doesn’t need witnesses.

Simmons holds Grif’s hands while they wait for everyone else to leave, and once they’re gone he gives Grif a long, lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going home,” he murmurs. “Call me when- call me later. Tell me how it goes.”

He pulls away to leave, and Grif clings to his hand until he’s out of reach, then moves over to sit on the steps. Sarge hesitates, then moves over to sit next to him.

They don’t speak for a long time. Grif is brooding, and Sarge isn’t sure what to say- how do you begin a conversation like this, anyway?

“I was stationed in Hawaii for awhile,” Sarge says finally. “About six months- that’s when I met... met your mother.”

Grif makes a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement. Sarge presses on.

“It wasn’t much more than a fling,” he says. “Probably not what you want to hear, but, well. That’s how it goes sometimes. We went out a bit, spent a few weeks just enjoying each other. Fell apart pretty quickly. Just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.”

Grif makes another noise. Sarge isn’t sure how to interpret this one.

“Did you even know about me?” he asks. Sarge nods, uncomfortable.

“She told me. Turned up maybe a month after we’d parted ways, told me she was pregnant. I told her I was being reassigned soon. We argued. I didn’t see her again after that.” Grif is still silent, and Sarge chances a look at him. He’s staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching them over his knees. Sarge sighs. “Look, I know I could have.... I  _ should _ have done more. Done better. But I didn’t. I saw an easy way out and I took it. Regretted it for a long time.”

He clenches and unclenches his own fists. How had Grif never realized before? He might mainly take after his mother in looks, but he takes after Sarge in so many other ways, in how he moves, in his manner and how he holds himself.

“I used to send money,” he goes on. “As regularly as I could. She sent me pictures, sometimes. Still got ‘em around here somewhere. When I found out about Kai, I sent more money. Maybe I’d been a coward, but it didn’t feel right, not doing anything at all. Then one day I got my check back in the mail, return to sender. Went digging around to find where she’d went and found out she’d died. Same person told me you and your sister had been put into foster care, and I knew I couldn’t let that stand. So I did the only thing that seemed right. I called up your social worker and told her who I was. Made the arrangements. Sorted things out here. Then I grabbed the first flight to Hawaii and went to get you. Figured- maybe it was twelve years too late, but at least I can start doing right by you.”

Silence falls again. He wishes Grif would say something. He isn’t sure how much more silence he can take.

“I’m going to bed,” is what Grif says eventually. He stands and heads inside, leaving Sarge sitting on the porch, staring out at the yard in silence.

-/-

He’s still sitting there in silence twenty minutes later when Simmons turns up. Simmons passes him without a word, and Sarge is reassured to know that at least Grif has someone.

-/-

He’s still sitting there half an hour after that when Lopez and Donut and Kai return from wherever they went. They don’t say anything either, though Donut shuffles awkwardly for a moment while Lopez and Kai pass by. And he grips Sarge’s shoulder reassuringly when he comes up the steps.

-/-

He’s still sitting there an hour after that when he gets a text from Emily.

**Em** : Met one of your boys today!   
**Em:** He seemed nice.

He starts laughing, then. Laughs until it hurts.

He doesn’t even know why he’s laughing. He just doesn’t know how to stop.

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when I was brainstorming this fic and wasn't sure what I wanted to do with it, there was a genuine possibility that Reggie was an assassin sent to kill Tucker for some reason. This was discarded almost immediately in favor of Tucker being paranoid, but like the Heretics genuinely being aliens, it was a definite possibility.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif doesn't speak to Sarge, and yells at Church.

o/o

Tucker is the only one of their group not surprised by the revelation that Sarge is Grif’s father. While Church reacts with his usual disdain, and Caboose chatters something about peas that makes sense to him and only him, Tucker quirks his eyebrow and says “Yeah? Wait, you didn’t know?”

Grif just glares at him, because people knowing shit about him that he doesn’t know isn’t cool.

He hasn’t spoken to Sarge since that night, or even stayed in the same room as him if he can avoid it. Sarge is acting like nothing has changed, and Grif isn’t sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, he’s glad things aren’t awkward. On the other hand, things  _ should _ be awkward.

After giving it some thought, he supposes it’s because for Sarge, nothing  _ has  _ changed- he’s always known that Grif was his son, it’s not like he had a huge bombshell dropped on him. 

For Grif, his entire worldview has flipped. Mannerisms he’d noticed he’d shared with Sarge suddenly make sense, little habits and tics that he’d always assumed were simply a case of exposure, and maybe it is, but the idea that it could be  _ genetic _ \- he isn’t sure how he feels about that. Better? Worse? Who knows?

At least now he understands why Sarge brought him here to live with him.

They take to hanging out at Church’s house more after that. Normally Grif just hangs around his house with Simmons, but he doesn’t want to spend any more time around Sarge than he absolutely has to.

Simmons' place isn’t really an option, since Simmons isn’t out to his family and blatant displays of affection are off-limits. How Simmons isn’t out yet is a mystery to Grif, given that  _ the whole fucking town _ knows about them- they certainly aren’t discreet outside of his home, after all. And while their friends have the tact to keep their mouths shut on the occasion they find themselves around Mr. Simmons, it seems odd that people who  _ don’t _ have an emotional investment in Simmons’ happiness would be so considerate.

He also doesn’t want to spend any time around Cappy, since, as Sarge’s best friend since  _ high school _ , the fucker was  _ absolutely _ aware of Grif and Sarge’s relationship, and never thought to say anything about it. And Tucker doesn’t like hanging around his place anymore either, not since Reggie spends so much time there and Tucker is still convinced that Reggie is trying to kill him. So that’s Tucker’s place right out.

Caboose has seventeen sisters, most of them still living at home. There's nowhere to get any privacy; his house is unanimously off-limits. Besides, he’s got three parents and they’ve all agreed that’s way too much adult supervision.

In the face of that, Church’s place seems the best choice. They like Carolina and have no objection to her presence, and Dr. Church tends to leave them alone for the most part. In fact, according to Church and Carolina, he hasn’t actually come upstairs in years, preferring to leave his children the upper floor of their manor and keep largely to the library and his study instead.

Besides, Church has all the best toys, and their game-room has a fully-stocked snack fridge in one corner. Grif can’t even say for sure why they didn’t start hanging out there all the time  _ sooner _ .

-/-

They aren’t quite sure, later, how the fight starts. They’re at Church’s, watching a movie or playing a video game or- something, they’re not sure about that later either- and Church makes a crack about ‘Grif’s daddy issues’. It’s the sort of dumb thing they say to each other all the time, the stupid insults and sarcastic jokes that come as easily as breathing, but Grif the remark makes Grif bristle irritably all the same.

“You’re one to talk about daddy issues,” Grif says, more venom in his words than maybe he intended. “Mister I-invite-my-friends-over- because-it-annoys-my-dad.”

Church scoffs at that, and because he doesn’t realize- or perhaps just doesn’t care- replies, “Please. At least I don’t sit around bitching because  _ oh no my dad actually wants me around woe is me!!! _ "

“ _ What _ ?!” Grif doesn’t remember standing up, but he must have because he’s on his feet now, glaring at Church. “If Sarge  _ wants me around _ so bad, he wouldn’t have spent my first three months here threatening to send me back to Hawaii. You don’t have any idea the kind of shit I put up with, so don’t go throwing around phrases like ‘daddy issues’ at me. You’re so broody and shit and you act like you’ve got it soooo terrible. You live in a fucking  _ mansion _ , dude.”

“Yeah, so fucking what?” Church is on his feet now too, glaring defiantly up at Grif, and Grif wonders dimly how long he’s been taller than Church. Church folds his arms. “You wanna know why I live in a  _ fucking mansion _ ? Cause one day my mom decided she was sick of having me around and  _ dumped me here _ . To, and I quote, ‘be his problem now’. I’d met him  _ twice _ before that and he’d never had any fucking interest in having a son before that. He only kept me because he  _ had _ to. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Oh,  _ I don’t know _ ,” Grif spits back. “Maybe it’s being dragged out to live on a shitty farm in Iowa by a man who only took you in out of obligation to your dead mother and makes sure you don’t forget how worthless you are. Maybe it’s hearing ‘dirtbag’ more often than your own fucking  _ name _ or wondering when he’s gonna follow up on those threats and send you back. Maybe it’s wondering if it wouldn’t be so  _ bad _ to be sent back because a shitty foster home in Hawaii would be better than  _ this _ shithole.” He hears a tiny, hurt noise from Simmons, but ignores it. He runs his hand irritably through his hair, absently noting that it still needs buzzing. He’s angry, but he’s less angry than  _ tired _ . He’s been angry for days, he just wants to rest. “If I have  _ daddy issues, _ it’s because I’ve had to put up with his  _ bullshit _ for for three years and now I’ve found out that he never even  _ wanted _ me, that he’s spent those three years  _ lying _ to me.” Church makes a noise like he’s going to protest, but Grif has had enough. He turns on his heel and heads to the door. “Simmons, Donut, come on. We’re leaving.”

“Wait- you can’t just- just because you’re leaving-”

“Then  _ walk _ for all I care!” There’s a snarl in his voice when he rounds on Simmons, half-standing in protest. He pauses a second and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Fine,” he says, more gently but barely containing his rage. “If you’re riding with me, we’re leaving. If not, then- it’s whatever. I don’t give a fuck.”

-/-

The ride home is tense, unbearably quiet. Simmons hunches in on himself on the passenger’s side, hands wringing anxiously in his lap. In the back, Donut pulls his hood up until it hangs over his face and pulls one knee up to his chest best he can. If Grif were paying more attention, he’d notice that Simmons’ hands are shaking and that Donut is close to tears, but it’s enough to keep his attention on driving safely as it is. His own anger is heavy; he can’t deal with anyone else’s emotions right now.

-/-

He drops Simmons off first, and when he and Donut pull up to the house Dr. Grey is there, sat on the back steps eating popsicles with Sarge. They’re laughing, but when they see the boys they stop and exchange a look that doesn’t bode well for them. They stand to meet the boys on their way up the walk.

“Hello, Grif!” Dr. Grey says, beaming at them. And that means this young man must be Donut!”

“Er, yes ma’am.” Donut takes her offered hand, bewildered. “And who are you?”

“Dr. Emily Grey, at your service~” she chirps. Sarge touches her elbow gently, and she half-turns to smile up at him too.

“She’s uh… see, she’s…” Sarge actually looks embarrassed, which has got to be a first. “Well, thing is, uh… we’ve been seeing each other, is all. For a few months now. ‘Bout six months now,” he mutters. “Just- just thought it was about time she met my kids, is all.”

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much.

It’s not that Grif has any objection to Sarge dating- he doesn’t. It’s just that on top of everything else- on top of the lies, and fighting Church, and the tension he could sense from Simmons over his outburst- on top of all that, now this… it’s  _ too much _ . He gives Dr. Grey a brief nod and then heads into the house.

“Congratulations. I’m going to bed.”

-/-

Once he’s gone, Dr. Grey gives Sarge a smile. “That went better than expected,” she says. “I thought he’d hate me.”

It’s not quite clear if she’s being sarcastic or not. Donut shakes his head. “Grif just got into a fight with Church,” he says. “He’s probably just too upset to deal.”

“What’d they fight about?” Sarge asks.

Donut looks at him, and Grif’s outburst echoes in his head. He looks away suddenly, and rubs his arm awkwardly. “I don’t think he’d appreciate me telling you,” he says quietly. “It’s nice meeting you, Dr. Grey. I’m going to bed, it’s been a really long day.”

He hurries in before Sarge can say anything else, Grif’s remarks about Sarge still in his head, blending together with buried thoughts about his own father.

Once he’s in his room alone, he sinks down on his bed and buries his face in his hands, and lets the tears come.

-/-

Grif wakes up the next morning to his usual wake-up text from Simmons. He squints at his phone, expecting it to say something like “wake up, fatass” or “come on lazybones, wake up already”, but instead all it says is “six o’clock”. Despite being just a text, he can hear the terseness in Simmons’ tone as clearly as if he were saying it in person. Okay, so he’s still upset. Grif flops back onto his pillows. He’s not even sure why Simmons is so upset with him- tenseness after the fight with Church, he can understand, but to still be upset now?

Grif groans. He’s seriously considering just going back to sleep and skipping school today.

“Wake up, sleepy-head!”

Grif grunts as a heavy figure lands on him, and he finds Donut sprawled over him. He aims a kick through the covers, and misses. Donut rolls aside and sits up, grinning down at him in that unnervingly wide smile that Grif has learned to recognize as not-genuine-at-all. He smacks Donut with a pillow. “Go away. I’m not going to school today.”

“Aww, but today is taco day in the cafeteria!” Donut tries to pull Grif’s covers away, but Grif holds on more tightly and tries once more to kick him. Finally, Donut gives up and slumps in defeat. “Besides, if you don’t go to school, how will Kai and I get there? And Simmons? You’re our ride, and the bus doesn’t come out this way anymore.”

“Get Lopez to do it.” Grif rolls over and pulls his covers over his head. “Tell them I’m sick.”

“Aww…” He can hear Donut pouting; after a moment, Donut lays down beside him with a sigh and stretches out. “Are you really sick, or just too mad to get up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

He huffs, and for a moment it’s silent. He’ll never admit it, but it’s kind of nice having Donut here with him. Before long, though, they hear Sarge coming down the hall. He knocks on the door before pushing it open when Donut calls entry.

“Rise and shine, Dirtbag!” (Beside him, Grif feels Donut flinch slightly, but decides not to interpret that.) “Time to get up!”

“He says he’s sick, Sarge,” Donut says, sitting up. Grif just groans and tries to burrow further into his blankets.

Sarge chuckles. “Playing hooky, huh? Think I don’t know that? Only been a teacher for ten years, after all…”

Grif makes a keening noise and gives up his wriggling. He hears Sarge move towards him and waits for his covers to be yanked away, but instead he feels a cool hand press against his forehead. The touch is weirdly soothing and he leans into it instinctively before shifting enough to peer out of his covers at Sarge. Sarge is frowning down at him, but it’s more thoughtful than his usual disappointed, disapproving scowl. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and pulls his hand away.

“Does feel a bit warm, actually.” He takes a step back. “All right, come on, Donut. Let’s leave the invalid to his rest.”

He’s gone before either can reply. Donut leans over Grif, and now it’s his hand on Grif’s forehead, brushing gently at his hair. His touch is comforting, and Grif doesn’t bother not leaning into it.

“I hope you feel better soon,” he says, and leaves as well.

-/-

Grif wakes around noon to a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He grunts something that could generously be interpreted as an invitation and a moment later the door opens and Dr. Grey is there, smiling down at him. He grumbles and pulls his covers back over his head. She’s the last person he wants to talk to right now, except maybe Church or Sarge.

“Sarge told me you were sick,” she says, sounding a little more pleased than he’s comfortable with. “He asked me to stop by and check on you.”

He grumbles again, but does relent and pull his covers off of his face, the only concession he’ll make to her presence. She just laughs and reaches over to rest a hand against his forehead, against each cheek, and this time he absolutely doesn’t lean into the touch. She also coaxes him into sitting up so that she can listen to his breathing and his heart, then checks his temperature before finally letting him lay back down. Then she sits at the edge of his bed and crosses her legs at the ankles and leans back and just  _ looks _ at him. It’s unnerving.

“I get the feeling you’re not happy with me dating your father,” she says, eventually.

Grif scowls. “Sarge isn’t my father,” he says. “I mean, he is, but he’s… not. And I don’t care if he dates or not, it doesn’t matter, but he lied to us about it- he could have said he was seeing someone, even if he wasn’t ready to introduce you- and I only  _ just _ found out that he’s my real father- all the years since he’s brought me here, and he never told me. It kinda makes me wonder what else he’s keeping from us.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty he hasn’t told you,” she says cheerily. Grif snorts, and pulls the covers back over his head. Dr. Grey tugs them back down. “He thinks the world of you, you know. He told me.”

“Yeah, well.” He drags the blankets back up, rolls over and buries his head under the pillow. “He’s never told me.”

-/-

Simmons stops by after school. He sits on the end of Grif’s bed for a long time, staring at the floor while Grif watches him.

“Do you really want to go back to Hawaii?” he asks.

_ Oh _ . Grif runs his comments from the night before back through his mind and thinks he can understand why Simmons is so upset, now. He sighs and sits up, scoots over until he’s sat behind Simmons. He wraps his arms around the other’s waist and leans his head against his back, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Yes,” he says quietly. “And one day I will.” Simmons stiffens under him, and Grif shifts enough to press a kiss between his shoulderblades. “And I’m taking you with me when I do.”

“...oh.”

He falls silent, and Grif laughs and raises up enough to kiss the back of his neck. “You’re the only thing in this shitty town worth sticking around for. Do you really think I could just leave you behind? Please. Thought you knew me better than that.”

“Thought I did too, but…” Simmons runs a hand through his hair; his curls are growing out again and Grif knows he’ll cut them back down soon. He feels a small pang of regret over that. He loves Simmons’ hair. “You’ve never yelled at me before. I thought.. You know.”

“I’m sorry.” He leans against Simmons’ back again, resting his head against the other’s shoulder with a sigh. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

-/-

A few days later, Sarge has Dr. Grey over for dinner so she can properly meet them. Sheila and Donut cook, while Grif and Simmons hang out at the counter, Grif pestering them for bites of everything they’re cooking while Simmons rolls his eyes and  _ tries _ to get his homework done. Grif calls him a nerd and draws on him with a sharpie when he gets bored. Eventually Simmons takes the marker from him and draws on him in return, devolving into a playful fight over the sharpie.

Kai tries to help with the cooking, but only manages to get flour everywhere- somehow; none of the recipes even  _ call _ for flour. At some point, Lopez wanders in, looks at everyone, and says something deeply sarcastic in Spanish that makes Sheila say “ _ Lopez! _ ” in that stern mother voice of hers.

By the time Dr. Grey arrives for dinner, Grif and Simmons are a mess of sharpie doodles and scribbles, Kai is draped over a grumpy-looking Lopez, and  _ everything _ is covered in flour, but Donut is setting the table neatly while Sheila transfers the food to nice serving dishes. Dr. Grey giggles.

“Well now~” she chirps. I can see you’re all a colorful bunch! I’m looking forward to getting to know you all.”

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back during the first draft, the lovely am-i-transmitting over on Tumblr drew [a lovely fanart](http://grifalinas.tumblr.com/post/129035788054/am-i-transmitting-wyomingsmustache-finally-got) for a scene from this chapter. Go check it out!
> 
> And if you drew fanart back during the original run and would like it featured when the relevant scene gets posted (or would rather I not link to old art), please let me know! I'm mostly just using the stuff I can remember about/find out my blog, but I'd love to have other stuff as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Church and Grif are fighting, but everyone else is getting on with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first major change from the original; along with introducing a new ongoing subplot, events also occur in a different order than they did before. Originally I split up the events of Donut and Grif into two chapters, but this time around I'm putting chapters like that in chronological order.

o/o

The tension between Church and Grif settles down into a simmering undercurrent that runs beneath the interactions of the whole group. Though the rest of them have no problems with one another, the lines have still been drawn, and that shows when they’re all together. They’ve taken to referring to themselves as ‘the Reds and Blues’, an appellation that Donut doesn’t have context for that he’s been told goes back to middle school. Donut and Caboose were not there for the original divide, but are nonetheless drawn into it all the same: Donut, due to his association with Grif, is lumped in with the Reds; Caboose, the Blues, thanks to Church.

When Grif and Church aren’t there, there’s no divide. Donut and Tucker joke around, and have even started writing a book together. (Tucker wants to involve aliens; Donut is very insistent that their spy protagonist marries a princess. They’re both sure it’s going to be  _ great _ .) Donut and Caboose still have long-winded conversations that sound like nonsense to everyone else.

When Grif and Church aren’t there, things are  _ easy _ . They’re nice. When they are there, things get tense again.

-/-

Donut takes to hanging out with Carolina and her friends more after that. Not only is there no tension, but he also feels like less of a tag-along. As much as he likes the others, he’s always felt that he was only a part of their group as an extension of Grif- his unspoken assignment as a “Red” being the latest evidence of this.

There’s an unforeseen benefit to this, too- Carolina’s friends include Wash, who is still the prettiest boy Donut has ever seen.

-/-

The treehouse that straddles Wash and Doc’s backyards was built when they were about seven or eight, so it really isn’t big enough for five teenagers, especially when one of those teenagers is Maine Price, who towers over the rest of them and is broad across as well. For that matter, Donut isn’t exactly short, either, a fact he hadn’t really noticed till now, while they’re trying to scrunch into the treehouse. Even with their backs pressed all the way to the wall, their legs are tangled together, and Donut is having a hard time concentrating on not noticing the fact that Wash’s calf is flush against his own. He crushes that realization and focuses on the conversation instead. He’s learned not to notice things like that.

“I can’t believe this place has always been this small,” Carolina says, shifting her legs so that Doc’s heels aren’t digging into her thighs. “I remember once all three of us were able to camp out up here and there was plenty of room.”

“And yet I still woke up with Doc on top of me,” Wash says, scowling.

“I can’t help it. I’m a tactile sleeper!”

“You were  _ inside _ my sleeping bag!”

Doc pouts at that and twiddles his fingers while Carolina and Maine laugh. Donut doesn’t laugh; he’s too busy trying to quash inappropriate thoughts about sharing a sleeping bag with Wash, because no way will  _ that _ do him any favors.

“I can think of a few people who wouldn’t mind sharing a sleeping bag with you,” Carolina teases. Donut’s cheeks burn red, but no one is paying him any attention; Wash responds to her teasing by batting his hand at her childishly. “That guy from your summer camp?” she presses on. “What was his name? Sam or something? I bet  _ he’d _ like to share a sleeping bag with you.”

Wash’s scowl deepens. “Can we  _ not _ talk about that? I would honestly be happy going my entire life without thinking about him again. Thank god he’ll be overage for Camp Campbell by next year. At least if I go back I won’t have to deal with him.”

Maine snorts. “Creepy,” he agrees. At Donut’s confused look, he makes a motion with his hand. “Wash had a stalker at Camp.” (“Oh, are we speaking in complete sentences today?” from Carolina.)

Wash just shakes his head, irritated. “He wasn’t a  _ stalker _ . He just had this weird obsessive crush on me… and spent all his time following me around, and wouldn’t stop asking prying questions about me.”

“That’s a stalker, Wash,” Doc says. Wash just thunks his head back against the wall.

“Whatever. It was annoying, either way. I don’t like when people have crushes on me.”

“Why not?” Carolina asks. “I love it- it gives me the chance to break their heart.”

Wash laughs. “You’re so brutal.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s just… I don’t  _ notice _ , and then later I find out, and I have to wonder- you know, how much of our relationship was just them trying to get with me?”

Donut makes a soft noise at that, which gets him a curious look from Maine. He looks away, embarrassed, and Maine lifts his leg enough to kick Wash’s foot off his knee. Wash squawks in protest, his voice cracking midsquawk, which prompts laughter from the others. Donut catches Maine’s eye, and Maine gives him a small, reassuring smile.

Oh.

-/-

It’s not that Donut ever expected to act on his crush, of course. Wash has already made it clear that he’s not interested in dating anyone, and Donut isn’t sure he wants to be out anyway. He knows Grif is, and no one seems to care, but that’s Grif. Donut gets the feeling that Grif gets away with things other people wouldn’t be able to.

He’s asked Grif, once, if anyone gave him a hard time about his relationship with Simmons. Grif had just shrugged and said, “Sometimes. Doesn’t really matter. Simmons likes me, and that’s way more important. Hard to care what someone thinks about who I date when I can kiss Simmons anytime I want.”

“But aren’t you ever scared? You know, that someone might get violent?”

“Nah.” Grif had just shrugged. “No one ever has. You just gotta own it, dude.”

It’s very different than Donut’s experiences. He’d sighed, then, and said, “Okay,” before shifting the topic to something else.

-/-

Grif will never actually admit how much his fight with Church is getting to him. It’s been years since he was this angry at someone for so long: he’d spent much of the last year of his mother’s life angry at her for getting sick, for leaving him to take care of Kai so often, for not being well enough to be a proper mother. He still regrets that, still wishes he’d done more to help her instead of putting his own problems onto her.

But it’s  _ exhausting _ to be so angry at someone all the time. He has no idea how Church manages. Somehow the other is angry at everyone and everything all the time. Grif can’t figure out where he finds the energy.

The upside of this fight is that things have smoothed out at home somewhat. While he’s still angry at Sarge for lying to him, he doesn’t have the energy to be angry at both Church  _ and _ Sarge at the same time, and he can get away from Church.

The downside is that now Tucker and Caboose aren’t having much to do with him anymore either- Caboose out of loyalty to Church, Tucker because he just got fed up with dealing with them both. This hits him harder than he would have expected- he’s always assumed that as long as he has Simmons, the rest of his friends he can take or leave. But he finds himself thinking longingly of them fairly often, and he has no idea what he’s going to do if this thing with Church doesn’t settle down soon.

Even Donut isn’t spending much time with him away from home, though Grif is a little relieved by this. Donut is spending more time with friends of his own, instead of just tagging along with Grif’s everywhere. (Not that he minds so much, but he’ll never admit that, either.)

At least he still has Simmons. And if Simmons objects to him being a little more clingy lately, well, he doesn’t say anything about it.

-/-

Simmons has his own problems going on right now. Dad wants him to join the wrestling team, an idea Simmons has been fighting against for years. He hates the idea of so much physical contact, and despite being stubbornly fit, he isn’t particularly tough. He’ll get pinned in moments, but that isn’t even the biggest objection.

Wrestling tryouts are at the same time as Mathletes. Practices often overlap, as do meets. Simmons has in the past had to choose between attending a wrestling meet to cheer on his friends South and North, or go to a Mathletes meet to support his school (it’s not like anyone else is volunteering).

But Dad is insistent. “A sport will look good on college applications,” he says, and, “It’ll toughen you up.”

“I don’t want to be toughened up. I want to work with numbers. Besides, I’m not any good at wrestling. Every boy on the team could pin me in a second. Even Stasney, and he’s like, a noodle.”

“Maybe you could wrestle on the girls’ team, then?”

An image of South passes through his head, and he takes an involuntary step back, shaking his head. “That’s even worse! The girls are ten times scarier than the boys!”

“You’ll just have to wrestle with the boys, then.”

“But I don’t want to wrestle at  _ all _ ! I wanna be a Mathlete. I’m good at numbers and it’ll look even better on a college application.”

“The wrestling team will make you seem more well-rounded than if you’re pursuing only academics. Maybe you can join the Mathletes in the spring, instead of track.”

Simmons hates track. And wrestling. But Dad isn’t going to listen anytime soon, so he says, “Okay,” and then sighs before heading up to his room. At least he can count on Grif to be supportive.

Sort of.

Not that he can say anything about that, of course. Simmons hurls himself onto his bed with a huff. Dad has never approved of his friendship with Grif, and doesn’t even know they’re dating at all. Simmons can only imagine the trouble he’d be in if his dad found out.

-/-

“Look on the bright side,” Grif says later, in between kisses. “If your parents don’t know about us, they can’t ban our sleepovers.”

Simmons laughs. Here in Grif’s room, it’s easy to pretend things are different. “I’m surprised they haven’t said anything about me staying over here all the time anyway.” He closes his eyes and humans pleasantly. Grif is playing with his hair, making the most of it before he gets it cut again. He’s vaguely thinking of not cutting it this time. He loves the way it feels when Grif plays with it. “I wish I could just stay over here all the time. You think Sarge would be my dad instead, if I asked?”

Grif snorts. “Why not? He’s got a house full of strays as it is. What’s one more?”

Simmons had meant his comment as a joke, but now he sighs and leans his head on Grif’s shoulder sadly. Grif moves his hand and starts rubbing circles on his back instead.

“Hey, come on. It’s not that big a deal- just three more years, right? And then we can graduate and get out of this hell town. I’ll take you to Hawaii, we’ll just hang out on the beach not doing anything all the time. It’ll be great.”

Simmons laughs. “What about college?”

“There are colleges in Hawaii. Good ones. You can go to one of those. It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

Simmons laughs again, then sighs and settles against Grif’s shoulder contentedly. “You really are planning to take me to Hawaii with you, aren’t you?”

“Course I am. You’re my best friend. Hawaii is my home. Why wouldn’t I want to take you there?”

“Just sounds like a pipe dream, that’s all.”

“Sometimes pipe dreams come true.”

“We’ll cross our fingers for this one, then.” He yawns and curls into Grif’s shoulder. “I’d like to see Hawaii.”

-/-

In late October the Drama department announces tryouts for their next production, a performance of  _ A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream _ , and Donut decides to try out. He’d always liked theatre arts, but was never given much opportunity to explore that interest before. This time when he mentions it to his family, he gets a comment from Grif about how lame Drama is and that’s it. He grins at that the next day, when he’s scribbling his name on the sign-up sheet.  _ Lame _ he can live with very easily.

While he’s signing up Maine comes up behind him and takes the pencil once he’s done. This surprises Donut; Maine is normally so quiet that he can’t picture the other boy on stage belting out soliloquies.

“Set design,” Maine says, when he sees Donut’s confused look. They walk into the theatre together and take seats near the middle to wait. “I like Shakespeare.”

-/-

A week later, the cast list goes up and Donut is pleased to see he got the part of Quince, which he rather likes. A massive hand gives his shoulder a squeeze, and he turns to see Maine grinning at him.

“I see you got to be in the set crew,” he says cheerily. “We’re going to be working together.”

Maine nods, then taps the list, drawing Donut’s attention to one of the names- Wash is listed as a member of the sound crew. Donut blushes. “You know about my crush on him, don’t you?”

Maine snorts. “Obvious.”

“Does  _ he _ know?”

Another snort. “Oblivious.”

“You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“Naah.”

“Oh. Well. Thanks.”

Maine just laughs, and ruffles his hair playfully before heading off to his next class.

-/-

Blood Gulch Haunted Caverns is Blood Gulch’s main attraction at Halloween. The caves beneath the southern end of the town aren’t particularly interesting or useful in their own right, apart from being the occasional hang-out for bored teens, but there are enough ghost stories attached to them from the town’s history that attractions are set up there every year. It started with one haunted-house style tour of the caverns, but since has expanded so that there are four separate attractions, as well as a calming hay ride for, as Grif calls them, “scared little bitches”.

The field around the caverns is full of people waiting around between haunts, or just hanging out. The tv in the scare-free tent zone is playing one of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf movies, and off in the distance, there’s technopop pulsing from one of the attractions, pumping an undercurrent beneath the vaguely-controlled chaos of the crowd.

They’ve just come out of their second haunt, and they’re currently a mixture of laughter and shaking. Only Maine and Carolina are unfazed; on the other hand, Grif has Simmons’ hand in a vice-like grip and has buried his face in the other’s sleeve. He’s been like that since the bat room, and Simmons is trying to calm him down before he loses all the feeling in his hand.

“Maybe we should do something a little less intense before we go on,” Wash suggests. He pries Doc’s hands off of his arm and nods toward a huge trailer in the distance. “What about a nice relaxing hayride?”

Grif peers out of Simmons’ sleeve, barely. “There won’t be any bats, right?”

“No. Just a hay ride. It’s spooky because it’s dark except for the lanterns, but it’s not scary at all.”

-/-

The trailer for the hayride is sturdy, but the only concession to the event is a scraggly scarecrow stuffed down into the corner, in among the hay bales. He’s an ugly fellow, dressed in oversized overalls, with an unsettling grimace painted onto his burlap face. Stuck into the hay beside him is a scythe: an interesting prop choice, but somehow fitting for the holiday.

They take seats in a cluster along the opposite walls of the trailer, with Grif practically in Simmons’ lap, still clinging to his hand, though he’s at least loosened his grip and now seems to be milking his fear for the benefits rather than a need for actual comfort.

Donut takes the seat beside Maine, who gives him a raised eyebrow, expression tinged with amusement.

“What?” Donut says. “If we do have monsters turn up, I want to be sitting beside the guy who knows how to throw a punch.”

Maine shakes his head. “Paying to be scared,” he says.

“No no no, I mean  _ real _ monsters!” Donut waves his hands around. “I mean, look! This would be the  _ perfect _ set up to a horror movie scenario! A monster attacks and you don’t realize it, because you were expecting haunts! So when the madman with the chainsaw pops out and starts cutting off heads, I’m going to be sitting next to the guy who can throw a punch.”

“I like that your scenario implies that one of us is getting our head cut off,” Wash says. He leans back against Carolina’s knees and stretches his legs out across the floor. “Who’s the first victim?”

“Doc,” Maine grunts, earning an offended huff from Doc. Doc moves to sit on Maine’s other side. “Stealing Donut’s strategy?”

“Well stealing seems a little heavy but...”

Maine snorts, and pushes Doc over to Wash and Carolina. “Find another bodyguard.”

Doc pouts, but sits down beside Wash and leans against his side. Wash rolls his eyes, but puts an arm around Doc’s shoulders anyway.

The conversation is interrupted by a lurch as the ride begins. Donut leans back in the hay. His gaze is drawn to the scarecrow in the corner, and he sits studying it for a few minutes. It seems a bit out of place, if he’s honest- like a haphazard, last minute attempt to decorate. It’s been shoved down into the hay, with a pair of half-hearted, slightly squashed legs draped over the bale in front of it. It wobbles with each lurch of the tractor pulling them, but there’s something… unnatural about the way it moves. He frowns, and then jumps when Maine nudges him.

“Costume or prop?” Maine asks, point over at the scarecrow and drawing everyone’s attention.

“I’m not sure.” They all stare for awhile, but it remains stubbornly inanimate. Suddenly Grif and Simmons stand as one and move over to the other side of Maine and Donut.

“It could be a prop, or it could be someone in costume,” Simmons says. “Either way, I’m not sitting closest to it. Someone  _ else _ can be the first victim.”

“Doc,” Maine says again, earning a whimper from Doc and a laugh from Wash.

Donut shifts uncomfortably, having realized that he’s now closest to Schrodinger’s scarecrow. He doesn’t even have the option to move- thanks to Grif and Simmons, there’s no room. He presses closer to Maine’s side, which has Maine rumbling soft laughter.

The ride trundles along through the field, and slowly they all lose interest in the scarecrow, which has yet to give any signs of life. Donut keeps sneaking glances at it, but he’s slowly finding other things to occupy his mind, like just how close he’s sitting to Maine, or how nice this is, sitting in a pile of hay and staring up at a sky filled with stars. The only light is the lanterns at the four corners of the trailer, and the distant glow of the tractor’s headlights.

All of a sudden, the lanterns flicker out, and they’re left for a few seconds in almost complete darkness. Three of the lights stutter back on before they’ve even had a chance to adjust their vision, accompanied by a call of, “Sorry, my bad!” from the tractor’s driver. They ignore this entirely, though, because in the darkness the scarecrow has moved, and is now sitting on the hay bales at the front of the trailer, its arm looped casually around the pole of its scythe. It’s turning its burlap face at them, and in the dimmer lighting, the painted grimace looks far more animated and sinister. There’s a shriek at the back of the trailer, followed by a yelp and, "Get  _ off _ of me, you fatass! You’re crushing my spleen!"

The lanterns flicker off again- Donut counts his heartbeats, one, two- and then only the rear two flicker back on, and now the scarecrow is at the other end of the trailer, looming all-too-close over Grif and Simmons; Grif has all but crawled into Simmons’ lap and buried his face in Simmons’s shirt. Donut can just make out a barely-coherent, half-bungled Rosary coming from him.

The scarecrow only looms over Grif for a moment before spinning and looming at Carolina, who has been laughing. She bites down on her laugh and leans back slightly, but the grin is still there.

“At least you don’t have a chainsaw,” she says. “That one is Doc, if you’re wondering.” She points down at Doc, who whimpers and tries to pull Wash in front of him.

“Please don’t eat me!”

After a moment of watching Doc try to drag Wash in front of him, the scarecrow twirls using its scythe as a counter and leans there leering at Donut. Donut squeaks and clings to Maine’s side instinctively, and is startled when one big arm wraps reassuringly around his shoulders. When he finally peeps out from Maine’s shirt the scarecrow is squatting in front of Wash, leaning inches away from his face. Wash is doing his best to stare it down in return, but Donut can see his hand- the one not wrapped around Doc’s shoulder- clenched so tightly that his knuckles have gone white. Donut doesn’t move, despite the scarecrow’s attention being gone from him; he’s starting to see Grif’s point of view about this whole “clinging in fear” thing.

By the time the ride pulls to a halt at the other end of the field, the scarecrow has loomed over everyone but Maine. Grif has proven to be the most easily frightened: his face is still buried in Simmons chest and he’s mumbling to himself while Simmons rubs circles on his back.

They all stagger off the ride, thrilled but relieved, and the scarecrow puts a hand on Wash’s shoulder.

“I’m telling everyone at school how you nearly pissed yourself,” it says, and Wash yelps, his first frightened sound of the evening. The scarecrow laughs at that. Now that it’s out of character, it seems a lot less scary.

“You know what, South? You can suck my dick. Asshole.”

“I’m doing my  _ job _ , you soggy chicken nugget. You don’t want to get scared? Don’t get on the ride!” She folds her arms, and glances over at Grif and Simmons. “You gonna be okay, Grif?”

Grif nods. He’s calmed down significantly since South broke character, but he still has a death grip on Simmons hand. Simmons rolls his eyes.

“I’m gonna take him to the jeep to calm down,” he says. “We’ll see you guys later.”

They leave with a wave, and South steps back onto the trailer. “Gotta get the trailer back for the next round. See you guys later. Buy, Washpot!” she adds, flipping Wash off as the tractor starts trundling back across the field. Wash returns the gesture, and folds his arms as they head back as well, going around the long way.

“Why does she  _ always _ pick on me?” Wash huffs, not noticing the look Carolina and Maine exchange over his head.

Donut realizes while they walk that Maine’s arm is still around him, and he hesitates somewhat, expecting Maine to keep up with the others. He doesn’t, and the two fall behind the other three. Donut glances up at him, a little surprised.

“Still scared?” Maine rumbles.

Donut considers this for a moment, then loops an arm around Maine’s waist and leans closer to him. “Terrified.”

-/-

On the first day of every month, Cappy takes Tucker upstate to visit his father at the prison. It’s been an ongoing thing since Cappy took him in, and Tucker always enjoys these visits.

Tucker has noticed that since he went to live with Cappy, his relationship with his father has gotten way better. He doesn't know if that's because he's gotten older and matured a bit, or if it's just that now that Cappy is in the picture Pop can stop worrying about any actual  _ fathering _ and just focus on getting to know his son on a personal level. Pop was never very good at being a father. Either way, they're closer after three years of talking through a plexiglass wall than they were in the eight years he actually had custody of his son.

It’s kind of depressing, sometimes, when Tucker spends too much time thinking about it. So he tries not to dwell too much.

“Hey, Vern!” Pop says, giving Tucker a crooked grin when they meet. He nods at Cappy. “Sup, Cap? Doing all right?”

“I’m as happy as a pig in muck, Quentin. And you? I hope you’re keeping well.”

“As well as I can. Least I haven’t got that bug going around.”

“That is fortunate.” Cappy places a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two alone, then. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Kay.” Tucker glances at Cappy as he moves over to wait with the guards; he usually tries to give Tucker some privacy during his visits, after the niceties have been taken care of. Once he’s away, Tucker turns his full attention back to his father.

“So how you holding up, Vern?” he asks, looking Tucker over. “Have a good Halloween?”

Tucker shrugs. “I got roped into taking Reggie’s dumb kid trick-or-treating, but it wasn’t that bad. Some of the stops gave me candy, that was pretty cool.”

He talks for a few minutes longer, while Quentin studies him thoughtfully. When he hits another lull in the conversation, Quentin raises an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong? Something’s bothering you.”

Tucker shrugs again, not wanting to bring their visit down with talking about his problems- he wants to talk about cool stuff, like the story he and Donut are writing, or Caboose’s moms taking him with them on their museum trip a few weeks ago. Caboose had only dragged him along because Church wasn’t available, but it’d still been pretty fun, and ever since he’s been getting flutters in his middle every time the other boy is around.

But the fight between Church and Grif is draining him- Church is his best friend, and Grif his backup best friend, he doesn’t want them to fight. He sighs. “It’s just… Church and Grif are fighting and it’s getting to the rest of us.”

Pop is giving him a ‘go on’ look, so he tells him everything about the situation.

“Sounds rough, buddy,” Pop says, once he’s done. Tucker gives him a flat look.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry. Still though- it sounds like they’ve both got some shit bottled up and now they’re angry because they need to be. You should try to get them to talk to each other.”

“You think?”

“Well I mean… look, around here if disputes aren’t settled with words soon then eventually they’re settled by the blade, right? Me and some of the others, we’ve started encouraging people to talk things out when they’ve got a problem. It was our therapist’s idea, and you know, it’s working? Less fights overall, which is always good.”

“Your therapist sounds pretty good.”

“Nah, he’s shit. Used to be our medic, but he was even more shit at that. But the idea was a good one.”

“Well I doubt Church and Grif are gonna stab each other if they don’t talk soon. But it still sucks for me, cause my friends are miserable and no fun anymore.” This gets him a laugh from Quentin, and Tucker leans back in his seat. “Let’s talk about you for awhile. How are things going in there? How are Chad and Del?”

“Pretty good, pretty good.” Quentin leans back too. “Del’s got that bug I mentioned, Chad’s been moping around feeling sorry for himself when he isn’t glued to Del’s side.”

Tucker snorts. “Has Chad admitted that they’re married yet, or is he still no-homoing Del?”

“Nah.” Quentin shakes his head. “It ain’t gay if it’s in prison, right?

“Chad needs to get his shit together.”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to live with them!”

They’re both grinning, and Tucker is in much better spirits. He swaps tracks and tells Pop about his museum trip, and then the book with Donut, and then swimming with Church and Carolina, and before he knows it Cappy has rejoined them to tell him it’s time to go.

“Sorry, Quentin,” he says, with an apologetic smile. “It’s time for us to head out.”

Quentin’s mood has done a one-eighty at Cappy’s appearance, and he slumps in his seat, clearly disappointed. He still gives Tucker a weak smile, though.

“Kay. Yeah, all right. See you next month, Vern. I hope things work out with your friends.”

“...right, yeah.” They both stand, and exchange a fistbump across the glass. “See you around, Pop.”

Cappy throws a reassuring arm around Tucker’s shoulder while they head out, giving him an affectionate hair ruffle. “I’m sorry, Tucker. I wish you could see him more, too.”

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this, I never gave much thought to Quentin. He was meant to remain an exclusively off-screen character, even though I actually knew a lot about him. However, when I did later decide to introduce him, I inadvertently dropped readers into the middle of a plot that required investment in a character that _they had never been given a chance to know_. Which I thought was unfair. So this time around, we're gonna get to know Quentin properly.
> 
> :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team tryouts, and now it's Thanksgiving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hecked up and added this to the old document, whoops. Sorry about that!

o/o

Maine comes over to see Donut about a week after their Halloween adventure. The only ones outside when he pulls up are Sarge and Dr. Grey; Dr. Grey is sat on the porch reading and watching Sarge chop wood for his grill. Sarge has his shirt off- it’s cold out, but there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to him anyway. He stops and leans on his ax when Maine pulls up.

“Donut here?” Maine asks.

“He’s in his room. Go on in.”

Maine grunts his thanks and heads inside, while Sarge hoists his ax and gets back to his woodchopping. The sch-thwunk follows him up the stairs to Donut’s room, where the door is open and he can see the other on sprawled on the bed with his computer. He taps on the jamb and Donut looks up, seeming startled to find him there. His face splits into a grin after a second, though.

“Oh heeeeeeeeeeey! I was just going to watch Son of the Vampire Mummy Werewolf- want to watch with me?”

Maine considers this, then nods and moves into the room to join him.

-/-

About halfway through the movie- sometime in the middle of the son’s first flight under the full moon, while a silhouette trails unraveled bandages- Donut is startled by a massive hand covering his. He looks up to find Maine eyeing him cautiously. He smiles and turns his hand to curl his fingers with Maine’s.

They both turn back to the movie, blushes crawling up both of their faces.

-/-

Long after the movie has gone off, after they’ve sat around talking about it, and anything else, after the sun has long set and Grif and Kai have gotten home, after Dr. Grey has left and Sarge has gone into his office to grade papers, Donut finally walks Maine down to his truck. Their hands are still held between them.

“So… does this mean we’re a thing now?”

Maine glances down at their hands and up at Donut’s face. He shrugs, but there’s a hopeful look in his eyes. “If you want.”

“I’d like that,” Donut says shyly. He swings their hands and grins, but then his grin falters and he tugs his hand away. “But, um… maybe we don’t… tell anyone? If that’s okay?”

Maine looks a little hurt at that, but he nods anyway. “Up to you.”

“Thank you.” Donut looks away, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m just… not ready.”

“S’fine.”

They reach Maine’s truck, and Donut takes Maine’s hand again. “You know… if you wanted to kiss me good night before you go… that’d be okay… I’d like that…”

Maine laughs, and gives him a chaste kiss before ducking into the truck. Donut isn’t sure, because it’s dark, but he thinks Maine might also be blushing.

-/-

Rehearsals for the play pick up in November, but they also become more fun now that he’s dating Maine- or, well, now that they’re boyfriends, since they haven’t actually gone on a real _date_ yet. But rehearsals give them plenty of time to spend together, and more importantly, Maine doesn’t mind giving Donut a ride home afterward. Donut lives pretty far out of town, and there are plenty of backroads and detours available to draw out their drive. Maine holds his hand between them while they drive; Donut teases him about ten-and-two, but makes no motion to pull his hand away.

Occasionally Donut thinks of his first boyfriend and how much _easier_ it is to be with Maine, and finds himself wondering if maybe Blood Gulch really will be better than his old home.

The ease of his relationship with Maine makes it a little easier to deal with things with the rest of his friends. Grif and Church are still not speaking, and the tension has prompted Donut and Tucker to have as little to do with them as possible. Only Simmons and Caboose remain loyal; according to Tucker, the day one of them has had enough will be the breaking point. It has to happen sooner or later.

-/-

The trouble with keeping their relationship secret is that Donut would really like to hold Maine’s hand in the hallways at school, would love to be able to go on dates with him and tell everyone that “This is my boyfriend!” He’s glad Maine is understanding, at least: he’d expected him to be more insistent but when Donut had stumbled over a halting, mumbled, bare-bones explanation Maine had just ruffled his hair and said, “Okay,” softly.

Still, Donut would love to be able to kiss him in public.

-/-

Two days before Mathlete tryouts, Simmons stops in the middle of a conversation and marches over the sign-up sheet to add his name with a determined flourish. Grif stands back, watching him, and raises an eyebrow when he turns back around. Simmons folds his arms and glares defiance at Grif, who just laughs.

“You are _such_ a nerd.”

“Maybe,” Simmons agrees. “But I’m a nerd who’s going to join the extracurricular I want for a change. I’m seventeen!” he adds, voice cracking a little in his excitement. “I should be able to decide which interests to pursue!”

He folds his arms and stares Grif down, daring him to say anything. After a moment, Grif snorts and starts walking.

“Come on, nerd. We’re gonna be late for class and I know how much you hate that.”

“Punctuality is very important, okay?!”

-/-

It’s time for wrestling tryouts. Maine and Wash sign up; Donut goes with them to cheer them on.

He takes a seat up in the bleachers while Wash and Maine line up, and only a moment later is joined by a girl with long blonde hair with faded purple streaks, pulled into a pair of tight French braids. He recognizes her vaguely as one of Wash’s hall monitor friends, though when he first saw her he remembers thinking that she looks more like she stole the vest so she could get out of class whenever she wanted. He gives her a friendly smile when she drops onto the seat next to him, and she grins.

“Hey there!” she says. “You’re Donut, right? Grif’s new bro?”

“Um- well-” Donut wrings his hands nervously. “I wouldn’t use those words exactly, but… more or less. Who are you?”

“I’m South. We’ve met before- you were clinging to Maine at the hayride.”

Donut blushes furiously. He’d forgotten about that. “I get scared very easily,” he says, but she just waves that away.

“Nah, it’s flattering. That was my first year doing it, it was a real ego boost.”

“Oh, you were really scary! I had nightmares for days after that.”

“Flatterer.” She preens, obviously pleased with herself. “So what brings you here, huh? Trying out or just watching the hotties?”

A blush spreads across Donut’s neck at her words, and he ducks his head. “I just came to cheer on Wash and Maine,” he says. “I’ve got too much on my plate to try wrestling.”

“Yeah? Well, Wash could use all the cheering on he can get. Oh, speaking of.” She gestures out at the mats, where Wash is next up. She cups her hands around her mouth so she can call out to him. “Hey, Washpot! Don’t choke out there, okay? I know that’s a novel concept for you but you can do it, I have faith in you!”

Wash doesn’t even turn around to flip her off, swinging his hand around while he talks to the other boy currently up next.

South clucks her tongue and shakes her head, then tries again. “No really, though! If you lose it means you’re pathetic and lame, so try not to! And just so you know! The goal is to pin your opponent, not the other way around!”

This time he does turn around to flip her off. She laughs and blows him a kiss, then turns her attention back to Donut as if nothing happened.

-/-

South stays with him throughout the boys’ tryouts, which has Wash looking grumpy when he and Maine finish their rounds and join them in the bleachers. The pair fall into an argument that seems to be carrying on from an old one; Maine uses the distraction to give Donut’s hand a squeeze between them before turning his attention to the girls’ team tryouts. South hurries off to join the line; once she’s gone, Wash flops backwards with a groan.

“Why is she _always_ picking on me?”

Maine just snorts.

-/-

Simmons only barely makes the team. He stands staring at the results list and tries not to feel sorry for himself. He knew from the beginning that his test anxiety would probably fuck him over, and he’s honestly lucky that he made the team at all.

Still, he’s made it. And more importantly, he didn’t go to wrestling tryouts, which means there’s no way for him to have made that team.

Simmons sleeps over with Grif that night, rather than face his dad and tell him what he did. He goes home the next night, though, and true to expectation, Dad is livid.

He skypes Grif later that night, after his parents have gone to bed, feeling utterly miserable. He steers the subject away every time it comes up; he doesn’t want to talk about it, he wants Grif to distract him, which Grif seems perfectly happy to do.

-/-

“He wants me to drop the club,” Simmons says on their way to school the next day. “He said he’s going to call Coach DuFresne and get me a make-up tryout scheduled.” He scowls. “He’s got a lot of pull with the sports department. He can probably do it.”

“So choke,” Grif says, shrugging. “There’s nothing he can say about it if you don’t make the team fair and square. Coach won’t put you on the team if you suck and if your dad tries to make a stink he’ll tell him that. Easy.”

Simmons snorts. “Yeah, my dad will give up that easily. He’s not you, you know, he doesn’t just shrug and say ‘fuck it’. He actually holds onto stuff.”

“I hold onto stuff.”

“I mean besides Oreos.” Simmons huffs irritably; Grif reaches across to pull Simmons’ hand into his lap.

“I hold onto _you_.” He gives Simmons’ hand a squeeze. “Talk to Doc,” he suggests. “Get him to talk to Coach for you. Coach is pretty chill, he’ll listen.”

-/-

Coach pulls him aside in gym later. Dad called this morning, Coach explains, and Coach wants to know what Simmons has to say about things. Simmons takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to be on the wrestling team,” he says. “Or do any other sport, either. I want to join the Mathletes. It’s my dad who wants me to be a wrestler.”

“That’s what I thought.” Coach leads him over to sit on the bleachers. “You never seem particularly athletic in gym, even if you do put in more effort than the other nerds. No offense,” he adds, when Simmons cringes.

Simmons shrugs, and tries not to let it bother him. He knows Coach doesn’t mean it in a derogatory way, hell, he calls Doc a nerd all the time and no one would suggest he loves him less for it. But it still stings.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles.

“Listen, son, I can tell Rich not to waste his time on this, but you’ll have to talk to him yourself if you really want to get anywhere with him. Otherwise he’ll just start again with the next sport, and you’re actually fast enough to run track.”

“Can’t you talk to him?”

“I could, but it wouldn’t be any good. You’ll have to put your foot down.”

Simmons sighs. “I don’t see that working, but… thanks, Coach.”

-/-

Simmons tries to take Coach’s advice that night, and when he turns up at Grif’s later with an overnight bag, Sarge lets him in without a word and doesn’t say anything when he doesn’t go home for three days.

-/-

Before they know it it’s nearly Thanksgiving. Sarge in particular loves Thanksgiving, mostly because he loves any excuse to fire up his smoker, an enormous beast of a box that sends plumes of smoke curling into the sky whenever he uses it. He buys the biggest turkey Donut has ever seen, and when Donut remarks on this points out that with Dr. Grey and Sheila joining them, and with Grif’s appetite in general, a big turkey is necessary. Donut is momentarily surprised that Simmons _won’t_ be joining them, since he seems to be over with them more than he’s at home. Simmons just mutters that his dad likes him to spend Thanksgiving with his family and hastily changes the subject. Donut is startled- he’d almost forgotten that Simmons doesn’t _actually_ live with them.

When he passes Grif’s room on his way to bed that night, he sees Simmons sprawled across Grif’s bed in his pajamas and suddenly realizes that Simmons has slept over the past three nights.

He wonders if Sarge has noticed.

-/-

As Thanksgiving approaches, Simmons’ mood drops more and more. Grif is doing his best to cheer him up, but Thanksgiving is always miserable for Simmons, and seeing Grif’s family in such high spirits just makes it feel worse. Between parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, his house is going to be packed, and he’ll be dragged into far too many conversations about things he doesn’t want to talk about. He knows he’s going to have at least four people asking if he has a girlfriend yet.

“I wish I could just hang out here for Thanksgiving,” he says, curling his fingers with Grif’s. They’re loafing on the porch swing, putting off the moment Simmons will have to go home and help get his house ready for guests. “I already feel more at home here anyway. And your family is a lot more comfortable to be around than mine.”

“That’s because none of us gives a fuck,” Grif shrugs. “We’re not a family, we’re a bunch of strays who happen to live together.”

“Better than a bunch of people who insist you have to act and be a certain way because of shared DNA.”

“Nah, that’s just your dad being a dick.”

“There’s no denying that.” Simmons sighs, and stands up reluctantly. “I should head home. I’ll see you Friday, I guess.”

-/-

Sheila and Donut end up cooking most of Thanksgiving dinner. They both love to cook, and it frees up Sarge to handle the smoker. He’s been up since the crack of dawn to get the turkey in on time and every time Donut goes outside to check on him he’s singing cheerily to himself while he works.

One time he mentions this to Grif when he comes in, and Grif just laughs. “Sarge loves Thanksgiving,” he says. “Or any excuse to smoke something, really.”

He’s in a good mood today, largely because of the promise of large amounts of food and the chance for a long, uninterrupted nap after lunch. It’s a nice change from how grumpy he’s been lately, and his brighter spirits have Donut in a good mood, too.

-/-

Dr. Grey arrives late in the morning. She plays card games at the kitchen table with Kai and Lopez while Donut and Sheila cook and Grif tries to steal bits of food that’s being pulled from the ovens and stove. Sarge comes in more often now that Dr. Grey is there, and the kitchen becomes awash with warmth and happy conversation. Even Lopez is being less sarcastic than usual, probably because the addition of Sheila and Dr. Grey means there are now people who can understand him for once.

It’s the nicest Thanksgiving Donut has had in awhile, and when he thinks back to his old family, and how stiff holidays had always been around them, he can’t help but brighten up even more.

-/-

Grif has mixed feelings about Thanksgiving. He loves the holiday itself, and as much as he would like it more if Simmons was there with him, that doesn’t stop him enjoying himself. There’s the food, for one, and his post-dinner nap, but also it’s just cool to be able to hang out with his family. He’ll never admit it, of course. He still has to keep his dignity, after all.

He collapses onto his bed that night, after everyone has cleaned up and their guests have gone home. He pulls up Skype immediately; he feels bad for leaving Simmons hanging for so long, but someone’d had the bright idea to play Monopoly and that had been entertaining. Everyone had been eliminated until it was just Kai and Dr. Grey. Dr. Grey had put every point of her genius iq to work on strategy but Kai had bulldozed every single thing she’d tried. Turns out Kai can be _brutal_ when it comes to Monopoly.

Simmons looks the most miserable he’s ever seen him when he finally answers the call. Grif’s stomach plummets at the sight.

“How’d everything go with the family?”

“Could have gone better.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

There’s a pause. Simmons sets his head down on the desk with a groan.

“My parents found out about us,” he finally says.

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not immediately apparent, but Coach DuFresne, Doc's dad, is the Coach from the Grifball shorts, which everyone should watch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons confronts his dad, and Grif bites the bullet with Church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late going up, I forgot it was Wednesday until about five minutes before I had to leave for work.

o/o

Simmons keeps him up late that night, talking themselves in circles about how to handle Simmons outing himself to his family. It’s nearly three in the morning when he finally starts dozing off, exhaustion overpowering his nerves until Grif persuades him to get some sleep. Grif turns off his computer and goes to bed as well, but for once sleep evades him.

He’s in a pretty sour mood over breakfast the next morning, glowering at his pancakes as if they have personally wronged him. His brooding is interrupted by a pounding on the back door; Sarge doesn’t even look up from his paper to call that it’s open. A moment later, Simmons’ dad comes in, Simmons shuffling along behind him, eyes glued to the floor. Sarge folds his paper down.

“Mornin’, Rich! What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Red,” Mr. Simmons says stiffly. “Do you know that your boy has been corrupting my son?”

“Probably,” Sarge agrees cheerily. “Want some pancakes? What about you, Simmons?”

Simmons squeaks and takes the opportunity to move away from his father, hurrying after Grif to the stove, where a huge stack of pancakes has been set under a glass dome to keep. Rich watches the way they move together, all the ease of long practice, and scowls.

“I am not here for pancakes. Do you know what my son said to his grandmother yesterday? In front of our  _ entire _ family?”

Sarge sighs, and sets his paper down. “All right, Rich, I’ll humor you. What happened?”

Mr. Simmons’ scowl deepens; he’s clearly upset that Sarge isn’t taking this more seriously. “He  _ said _ that he had no intentions of getting a girlfriend now or ever, because he-” He makes a disgusted noise. “Because he’s dating  _ your son _ , and has been for several months now.”

He gives Sarge a triumphant look, but Sarge just scoffs. “Oh, is  _ that _ all. I thought it was something serious.”

“You don’t think this is serious?”

“Nah. They seem pretty happy. Can’t say much for the boy’s taste, but that’s his business.”

“Hap-” He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, I  _ know _ you’re biased after what happened to Butch, but you can’t pretend it’s  _ natural _ .”

Now it’s Sarge’s turn to scowl. “What happened to Butch is no concern of yours, and has no place in this conversation. And you’re right, I can’t pretend! Don’t have to. Come on, Rich. They’re happy. They’re good for each other. Let it go. Have some pancakes. You haven’t tried pancakes till you’ve had ‘em the way Lopez makes ‘em.”

“Si me preguntan a él hacer panqueques voy a escupir en ellos. Sólo para que quede claro. Él no es un hombre muy agradable.”

“I am  _ not here _ for pancakes!” Rich slams his hands on the table, leaning over Sarge, whose expression hardens as he stares the man down. After a moment, Rich remembers himself, and straightens up, adjusting his sleeves. “I am not going to just  _ sit here _ and let this happen. Perhaps you don’t care if your children are queer but  _ I _ raised my son  _ better _ than that. I was hoping you’d see my side of this issue, but since you’ll insist on being stubborn, very well. We’ll be going now. Dick, come on. We’re leaving.”

He turns to leave, but Grif has a tight hold on Simmons’ hand now, and it only takes a moment for Mr. Simmons to realize his son isn’t moving. He turns back and shoots a glare at their joined hands. “I  _ said _ , come on. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t.” Simmons stares at the ground, at his feet, and tightens his hand in Grif’s. "I don’t want to go.”

“I didn’t ask what you  _ wanted _ , boy.”

“...I know.” Simmons frowns at the ground, and then he risks a glance up. “You never ask. You always just tell me and- and you never care if it’s what I want.”

“I’m your  _ father _ ,” he says. “I know what’s best for you.”

“No you don’t.” He does look up now, glaring through angry red splotches on his face. “You only think you do. But this- this isn’t best. Grif is my best friend, and dating him- it makes me happy. So- so- so I’ll be staying here. It’s my decision, not yours.”

Mr. Simmons makes an irritated noise and strides over, reaching for Simmons’ free arm in an attempt to pull him away. Simmons jerks away from him.

“I’m not going!” he says, voice cracking.

The slap comes as a shock, but even moreso is that before sound even dies down Sarge is on his feet and has Mr. Simmons in a headlock, one arm twisted behind him. There’s a snarl in his voice and a cold fury in his eyes that they’ve never seen before.

“Get out of my house, Rich. Go home, cool down, and think long and hard about this conversation. Your son will be staying here for the moment. Now get.”

He turns them both and shoves Mr. Simmons toward the back door. Mr. Simmons goes without a fight; he seems to be in shock. Once he’s gone, Simmons collapses onto the nearest chair with a strange noise. Grif kneels down beside him, stroking his hand and murmuring reassurances while he calms down.

-/-

Mrs. Simmons appears just before lunch, while Grif is peeling eggs and Donut is pulling apart the remains of yesterday’s turkey for turkey salad. Simmons is hunched asleep on the kitchen table, but he looks up at the knocking on the back door and jumps to his feet when his mom comes in, carrying his overnight bag over one shoulder. (Behind him, unnoticed, Donut fumbles and sends the bowl of turkey skidding off of the counter.)

Grif is at Simmons’ side before his mom is, but she only sets the bag on the table and hugs him.

“Rich told me what happened,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“I mean, I guess?” His gaze flickers over to his overnight bag. Her hug tightens.

“I’m dealing with Rich right now. I think until I can sort him out it’d be best if you stayed here a couple of days.” She pulls back and gives him a small smile. “Shouldn’t be too much of a change. You’re always sleeping over here anyway.”

“That’s because we don’t treat him like shit,” Grif says irritably.

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Don’t get salty at me, young man. Who do you think has been running interference for you two all this time?”

Before Grif can properly process this, Sarge comes in. His gaze flickers from Donut, currently cleaning up the spilled turkey with shaking hands, to the overnight bag on the table, and finally to Mrs. Simmons.

“Esme.” He raises an eyebrow at her. “Have I missed something?”

“I’m trying to sort things out with Rich.” She turns to him. “I was hoping it would be alright if Dick stayed here for a few days in the meantime.”

Sarge shrugs. “Why not? Not like he ever goes home anyway.”

She looks like she intends to make a retort, but falters and instead gives Simmons and Grif an amused look. “We were already discussing that, actually. Times certainly have changed. I wouldn’t have been allowed to have sleepovers with  _ my _ boyfriend at that age.”

Sarge snorts. “Give what a sack of shit your boyfriend was back then, that’s a good thing.”

She smiles properly this time. “He wasn’t so bad. You know how teenage boys are.”

“Exactly!” He folds his arm and harumphs. “Anyway, Simmons can stay here as long as he likes. He’s always welcome in my house, he knows that.”

“Thank you.” She gives Simmons another hug, and moves to leave. “I’m glad my boy has you around to look after him, Red.”

-/-

Grif gets Simmons’ stuff put away in his room, and persuades him to take a nap since he didn’t get any sleep the night before. Once he has him asleep, he slips off of the bed and through the bathroom to Donut’s room. Donut is sitting under his window with a soft pink blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking at his phone, but he looks up when Grif knocks on the doorjamb.

“Hey, Grif.”

“Hey. Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.” Donut pats the spot beside him and Grif obliges and comes over to sit with him. “How’s Simmons?”

“Sleeping. How are  _ you _ ?”

Donut gives him a carefully puzzled look. “Sorry? I mean, it was a pretty stressful morning, but I wasn’t really involved! So I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding eye contact and trying not to cry all day. What’s up?”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Donut insists again, staring down at his phone in his hands. Grif follows his gaze thoughtfully. Sarge had gotten him his own phone not long after he’d moved in, and while he’d originally used the red case Sarge had given it to him in, he’s recently gotten a new one with pink flowers on it. Grif’s eyes flicker from the phone case to the bedspread, and back to Donut.

Some things are starting to click together in Grif’s head. He looks around Donut’s room properly, taking all the personal touches that are  _ clearly _ Donut, and the things that seem… a little like Simmons, honestly. He frowns.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Donut nods. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to yet.”

“Well, all right, then.” Grif stands. “I’m going back to my nap, then.”

-/-

Once Grif is gone, Donut turns back to his phone. He has a new text from Carolina.

**Lina:** Just heard from Doc, apparently Wash landed himself in the emergency room yesterday.

...well, he could have had a worse Thanksgiving.

-/-

School picks back up on Monday. Grif doesn’t go far from Simmons’ side in that time, and by the time they head back to school they’re both in need of some space. First period history, without Simmons, is a bit of a relief.

When Grif comes into the room, on time for a change, he spots an empty seat beside Church and takes a deep breath before sliding into it. Church looks startled and takes his earbuds out to give Grif an incredulous look.

“So, um. I guess I was kind of a jerk,” Grif says.

“Yeah, you were,” Church replies, but his face falls, and he looks away with an awkward half-shrug. “I guess I wasn’t any better.”

They fall into an awkward silence, but before they can break it the bell rings and it’s time for class. Grif settles back in his seat for his first period nap, and feels a lot of the tension of the last few months leave his body.

-/-

History has always been one of Grif’s least favorite subjects. Granted, he hates most of them, except maybe Creative Writing since his teacher eats up his philosophical bullshit like candy, but history is its own special kind of Worst.

“Just before break we were discussing the expansion of America and the discovery of the Hawaiian islands-” the teacher begins, and Grif’s hand is in the air before he gets any farther. He’s had all of break to brood over this, and while he’d pushed it aside in the face of Simmons’ problems, he hasn’t forgotten.

“When you say discovery, you mean on behalf of the western world, right? Because of course the Native Hawaiians who already lived there had discovered the islands  _ waaaaay _ before white people turned up.”

“Well, yes, of course, but the native population doesn’t really co-” She breaks off, and for a long moment she eyes Grif with distaste while he stares passively back at her. She gives a delicate cough. “That is to say, yes, of course, the point when the western world discovered the Hawaiian islands.”

-/-

Church joins him on his way out of class, and gives him a raised-eyebrow look.

“So where did that come from? You don’t usually care about that kind of thing.”

“Just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t care.” Grif makes an irritated noise. “And I wanted to see how far she was willing to go in telling a Native student his entire culture  _ didn’t count _ .”

Church snorts. “Probably about as far as she got that time I reamed her out over calling Natives ‘Indians’. Like, dude, come on. We’ve known for centuries how bad Columbus fucked up, can we move on?”

Grif laughs. “ _ Tell _ me about it!”

-/-

Tucker approaches Wash during study break with a sharpie and a grin. “Hey Wash! Mind if I sign your cast?”

Wash squints suspiciously at him. “...you’re going to draw a dick on it, aren’t you?”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Anyway, South already beat you to it.”

“Really? Nice!” Tucker picks up the cast with a grin, turning it carefully until he finds the dick scribbled in purple sharpie on Wash’s elbow. There’s a heart drawn under it; once he’s satisfied Tucker has seen it, Wash pulls his arm back and sighs.

“I thought she was actually concerned,” he says. “She  _ seemed _ concerned. Then when I looked to see what she’d written I realized she was just faking so she could harass me again.”

Tucker frowns, and tilts his head to look at South’s artwork again. He shakes his head.

“Dude, you are so oblivious it’s not even funny anymore, it’s just  _ sad _ .”

“What do you mean?”

Tucker points at the dick drawing. “See this? It’s really awkwardly placed. Like, even if she was making sure you couldn’t see it easily, she’d have still picked somewhere better- like here.” He points at the heart. Wash eyes it thoughtfully.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying South has the mad hots for you and drew the heart cause she was worried, then panicked and added the dick so you would think she was just being her usual mean self.”

Wash gives him a look, then shakes his head. “No, that can’t be right. That- no.”

“I’m telling you, dude. Mad. Hots.” He pauses. “You should tell her you’re not interested so one of us can catch her on the rebound.”

Wash gives him a flat look. “You’re disgusting.”

“Look, I’m just saying. South’s hot.”

He folds his book up and stands. “I’m leaving.”

-/-

It’s a relief for everyone that Grif and Church are on speaking terms again. They all sit together at lunch for the first time since the fight started, and things feel much more relaxed than they have. Grif feels kind of bad for dragging things out as long as he did.

“So Skydive is courting dad again and we got sent an advance copy of Call of Modern Warcraft over Thanksgiving,” Church says hesitantly. “You guys feel like trying out the multiplayer with me this evening?”

Caboose has been playing with Tucker’s hand this whole time- a habit of his that he’s picked up lately, and why Tucker allows it is anyone’s guess- but now Tucker pulls his hand away to cross his arms and huff. “I  _ can’t _ . Reggie’s got a thing going on and I got roped into babysitting his dumb kid. I hate babysitting. And Gary’s the  _ worst _ . I’ve never known a nine-year-old who tells such terrible jokes.”

Church laughs. “Oh come on, his jokes aren’t that bad. They’re actually kind of funny.”

“You’re only saying that because he laughs at  _ your _ terrible jokes.”

“Kid’s got a good sense of humor, what can I say. Anyway, just bring him along, he can play a few rounds with us, it’ll be fine.”

Tucker looks surprised. “ _ You’re _ in a good mood.”

Church shrugs. “I had a good Thanksgiving, that’s all. I got to hang out with my grandparents and dad didn’t talk to us for like a week. It was great. What about you, Grif? Up for a few rounds? I’ve got the cheat codes for that knifle thing you like.”

“They brought the knifle back?” Grif grins. “Fuck yeah I’ll be there.”

Church isn’t really the sort to smile, but when his and Grif’s eyes meet his face softens noticeably. Grif has accepted his peace offering, and all is now right with the world.

-/-

Simmons finally goes home over the weekend. He’s been talking to his dad, and they’ve agreed to work on fixing their relationship. Grif is against the idea, but Simmons insists.

“And if he doesn’t behave himself?” Grif asks, while Simmons double-checks everything is in his bag. “What then?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure that out if it comes to it. But I have to try. If I don’t, I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what we could have managed. I love my dad, Grif. I know you think I shouldn’t, but I can’t hate him. He’s my dad. When I was a little kid he was my hero. No matter how awful he gets, he’s still my dad. I have to  _ try _ .”

He sets his bag aside and climbs onto the bed, stretching out between Grif’s legs and pillowing his head and arms on Grif’s soft belly. He makes a sleepy content noise when Grif automatically brings his hands up to play with his curls.

“Besides,” he mumbles, muffled. “You can’t pretend you’re not relieved to have me out of your room.”

“Maybe a little,” Grif admits. He lets his eyes drift shut as he dozes off. It’s warm and sunny in his room, and Simmons is a comfortable weight on top of him. Naps with Simmons are the  _ best _ naps.

-/-

With finals approaching, everyone is a flurry of nerves as they try to cram in that last little bit of studying. Grif knows he’s should probably be studying as well, at least a bit, but he can’t bring himself to care how well he does. He glances around at everyone else in the library, all hunched diligently over their textbooks, and with a sigh pulls out his last math test to look over, just to say he did. Beside him, Church eyes the test and makes a scoffing noise.

“You always manage to get exactly the right number of problems right to pass,” he says. “Amazing how that works.”

Grif shrugs. “What can I say? I’m  _ just _ good enough, and no better.”

“Yeah,  _ right _ .” Church taps one of the problems, a trick problem that most of the class had gotten wrong. “So when are you going to let the rest of the world in on how smart you really are?”

“Nah, that’s way too much work, dude.” Grif shoves the test back into his bag. “You dig the best ditches they just give you a bigger shovel. I like small shovels.”

Church rolls his eyes. “Grif, you are the only person I know who does extra work just to make it seem like you’re dumb so you don’t have to do any extra work.”

“You’re one to talk. Isn’t your IQ off the charts? And yet you only manage about average in your classes too.”

“There’s a difference between not living up to your potential and going out of your way to make it seem like you haven’t got any. What about your future? You can’t be planning to just work on the farm with Sarge for the rest of your life.”

“Nah, I’ve got it all planned out. Me and Simmons are moving to Hawaii after graduation. I’ll work whatever job I can to put him through college, and after college I’ll be a stay-at-home house-husband who takes care of the kids while he gets rich revolutionizing the world of computer programming.”

Church  _ stares _ . Grif raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Does Simmons know about these plans of yours?”

“Well, we’ve… talked about going to Hawaii. I haven’t really mentioned the house-husband thing. You think I should?”

“Grif… you’re  _ sixteen _ .”

“So?”

“So… don’t you you think it’s a bit early to have things planned out that far in advance? I mean, there’s no guarantee you and Simmons will even still be together by the time we graduate, let alone by the time he finishes college. I’m not saying you’ll definitely break up, but you can’t be sure you won’t, either. I’m just saying… take it a lot slower, okay?”

Grif frowns, then shrugs. “Whatever. It’s not set in stone.”

Church sighs in relief. “Good.” He leans back in his chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Sounds like a pretty good future though.”

“No reason I can’t dream.” Grif mirrors Church’s position and closes his eyes. “And if I’m going to dream I might as well dream big. Hey, wake up me up when it’s time for the bell, okay?”

-/-

With the semester drawing near to an end, it’s time for the drama department to open their play. Donut is giddy to the point of feeling sick all day leading up to the performance; Maine comes by and steals him away for a few hours at lunch to calm him down. They drive down to the lake and sit watching the water for awhile, Maine’s big arms wrapped around Donut’s waist to keep him warm. Donut leans back into him with a content sigh, and by the time they have to head in so Donut can get ready, he’s calmed down considerably. His stomach is still a mess of butterflies but at least he doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore.

-/-

Donut heads into the main boys’ changing room a little while before zero hour, and sees a bunch of flowers sitting with his things. He picks up the bouquet, but the card just has his name on it, with no indication of who it's from. He sticks his head out the door and waves to their stage manager, who’s just passing by at the time.

“Hey Walter, do you know where these flowers came from?”

Walter shrugs. “No idea. Don’t sniff them, they might be poison from someone trying to sabotage you. Do you have any allergies?”

“Just pollen. Also, they’re fake.”

“Maybe they were sprinkled with pollen and being fake is a decoy.”

“I think they’re probably just from an admirer or something. Um. I’ll let you get back to work, I know you’re busy.”

Back in the changing room, he asks around, but none of the other boys know either. Donut frowns. He knows they’re not from Maine, who doesn’t really do the flowers thing, and he also knows none of his friends would have given them to him either. Kai, maybe, but he doubts she could have kept it secret.

-/-

The show goes well. There are all the speedbumps to expect from a high school production, but when the final curtain goes down the applause is genuine. Donut joins the cast for their final bows; he feels a bit like he’s floating and his heart is racing from the adrenaline rush of being on stage for the first time.

He looks out over the crowd, looking for his friends, and suddenly his heart plummets when he sees his ex in the audience, looking at him. Their eyes meet and the boy smiles at Donut, and Donut’s heart plummets more.

_ Oh _ .

Oh _no._

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote this chapter, I had no idea that I would later decide Church was part Native (one/fourth on his mother's side, as per a friend's request), and by the time I did I had forgotten about the scene with the history teacher. Originally, Church was pretty neutral about Grif's issue, but this time around I realized that he'd probably share the sentiment, and I got to inadvertently give them a bit of solidarity in the form of their shitty History teacher.
> 
> One thing that really excites me this time around is that since I've got everyone trained not to expect Tuckington from me, I no longer feel like I have to wait thirty-seven chapters to actually have them interact on screen after establishing them as each other's back-up friend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut and Jimmy have a chat. South throws a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting near to the end of the first arc with this chapter. There's only one chapter left, then the intermissions, which contains almost entirely new material and will be a fun time for everyone.

o/o

Donut takes a long time changing, so long that at one point Walter sticks his head into the changing room to tell Donut there’s someone waiting for him.

“Is it one of my friends?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know your friends.” Walter shrugs, and catches the edge of nerves in Donut’s eyes. “Want me to tell him to beat it?”

“N-no, that’s all right.” Donut looks away. “I’ll be out eventually, I’m just.. Tired.”

Walter looks doubtful, but nods. “All right. Stay safe, I guess.”

“Thanks, Walter.”

-/-

When Donut finally comes out of the changing room, Jimmy is leaned against the wall waiting for him. He grins when he sees Donut, which has Donut’s stomach in knots. That grin has never meant well for anyone. He forces his face into a neutral smile.

“Hi, Jimmy.”

“Hey there, Frankie!” Jimmy says, ignoring the way Donut flinches at the use of his given name. “Did you get my flowers?”

“Those were from you?”

“Yeah, I thought you might like them. They’re your favorite, right? Chrysanthemums? I remembered you like those.”

“I… I did, yeah.”

Jimmy looks pleased, and then frowns. “Frankie, what happened to you? You just disappeared on us. I called your house and your folks said if I called again they would call the cops on me. You just vanished. Everyone’s been saying your parents murdered you and chopped you into little pieces and buried you in the back yard.”

“What?!” Donut’s stomach just twists into further knots, but Jimmy smiles again.

“Okay, I  _ might _ have started that rumor myself. Serves them right for threatening me with the cops.” He throws an arm around Donut’s shoulders and steers him toward the back door. “Anyway, I had almost given you up as a lost cause but then they were passing out fliers for your play at the mall and I saw your name on it. So I drove down to see you. What are you doing here, Frankie?”

They’ve made it to the parking lot. Donut stops and pulls out from under Jimmy’s arm, taking a step back to put some distance between them.

“My parents threw me out,” he says. “After you outed me to them they told me I could find somewhere else to live, so I did.”

“Hey, don’t try to pin this on me,” Jimmy says with a scowl. “You were the one who was  _ so _ ashamed of us-”

“I wasn’t ashamed!” Donut throws his hands up irritably. “I was  _ scared _ ! You  _ know _ what Valhalla is like, you know what my parents are like! I was keeping quiet for my own safety, and yours too!” He stops, and rubs his hands down his face, then takes a deep breath. “So after you outed me, my parents kicked me out, and I came here and met Sarge and he took me in so. So now you know. And now you can go away.”

“Oh, come on, Frankie!” Jimmy reaches out for Donut, tries to put an arm around him again, but Donut pushes him away. Jimmy lets his arm fall to his side, hurt. “I miss you, Frankie. I miss us. And you didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Well… I’m saying it now. Goodbye.”

He takes a few more steps back, and looks around. He can see Doc and Wash ambling into the parking lot (from here, it looks like Doc is scolding Wash about something) and hurries off to join them.

“There you are, Donut,” Doc says, when he comes up to join them. Wash takes a step away when Donut comes up, but Donut doesn’t notice. “Maine was looking for you. Who was that guy?”

“Just- just someone I know from my old school,” he says, as flippantly as he can. He hopes they can’t see the way he’s shaking. “He just… he wanted to say hello. Where did you say Maine was?”

“He’s helping take the stage down,” Wash says. He has his arms folded, staring off at Jimmy, who is making his way around the building with a sour look on his face. “Is that guy bothering you? That didn’t look like just saying hello to me.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Donut gives them a quick wave and hurries off toward the door, while Wash and Doc carry on into the parking lot. (And it doesn’t occur to Donut till much, much later to remember that neither of them is old enough to drive.)

-/-

Donut finds Maine coming out of one of their storage rooms, and is startled when Maine pulls him into a deep, almost possessive kiss. His knees go wobbly at this and he whimpers a little when Maine breaks away. Maine chuffs gently at him.

“That guy?”

“Just my ex,” Donut says, still feeling a little wobbly. “He wanted to talk to me. Were you jealous? You shouldn’t be. I don’t like him anymore.”

Maine chuffs again, then smiles and gives Donut a softer kiss. “Not jealous.”

“Good.” He loops his arm around Maine’s neck. "Because you’re a much better boyfriend than he ever was.”

He steals another kiss, then pulls away reluctantly. As much as he would like to just stand there kissing Maine for ages, Maine has work to do, and any moment now someone else might come along and see them. He sighs.

“I should go find Sarge and the others, it’s probably nearly time to head home.”

“Kay.” Maine kisses him one last time, and walks him to the front auditorium.

-/-

He finds Sarge eventually, in one of the out-of-the-way corners of the auditorium with Cappy and a small, broad-shouldered man he’s never met. Sarge grins when he sees him coming.

“There you are, Donut! Come here, want you to meet someone. This is Corporal Buckshot, used to serve with him back in the war. Clint, this is one of my boys, Donut. He was the one prancing around in tights up there.”

“Well! Good to meet you, young man.” Buckshot shakes Donut’s hand, gripping tight enough to crush his fingers, and beams with pride. “I was just telling your Daddy here what a good show that was. Lots of good music, tunes you can really hum.”

“My-? Um, he’s not- I mean, I’m-” Donut stutters to a halt, and glances at Sarge, whose face has gone curiously unreadable. Thankfully, he’s saved from having to say anything more by the appearance of Kai, who pounces onto his back with a flying leap.

“You were so  _ awesome _ , Donut! Who’s the old guy?”

Sarge clears his throat. “And this is my little girl, Kai. Kai, this is Clint Buckshot. We used to serve together.”

“That’s not a real name.”

Buckshot looks startled. “Yes it is.”

“No it’s not. It  _ sounds _ like you made it up.”

“Well is that so?” He glares up at her; on Donut’s back, she towers over him. “Well I think you’re a very rude young lady.”

“Why? It’s not my fault you gotta make up your name.”

Buckshot looks startled. Donut interjects hastily.

“Um, Kai, why don’t we go see if we can find Grif and Simmons now? It was nice meeting you, sir!”

He hurries away, while Sarge and Cappy laugh and Buckshot looks baffled. Knowing Grif and Simmons, Donut assumes they’re in a dark corner somewhere making out, but he actually finds them near the front door with Church and Carolina. After a few comments to Donut about not sucking on stage (high praise), they mention an after-party being held at the Dakota place.

“It’s really just an excuse to party,” Church says. “North was in the play, but South is the one throwing the party. Supposedly to celebrate him being done with rehearsals but honestly it’s probably just an excuse to get Wash over to her house. Good on her, I guess. Maybe they can finally get their shit together and stop drowning the rest of us in their unresolved sexual tension.”

“Wash and South? But I thought..” Donut frowns, and thinks about Wash and Doc heading off into a dark parking lot when neither of them drives. He shakes his head. “Don’t those two hate each other?”

“Those two? Nah, they’re just pining. They’ve always been like that.”

“If you say so.” Donut shakes his head again. “One of us should take Kai back to Sarge and tell him where we’re going.”

“I’ll do it.” Grif picks up Kai from Donut’s back and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of feed, and heads off into the auditorium with her while she giggles. Donut rolls his shoulders a little now that the extra weight is gone- in truth, Kai is getting a bit too big to be carried around like that.

“He and Cappy probably want to spend some time catching up with Corporal Buckshot, anyway,” Donut says idly.

Carolina scowls. “Ugh,  _ he’s _ in town? Thanks for the warning. I think I’ll be sleeping over with South tonight. Tell Dad it was impromptu and completely spontaneous if he asks.”

“You don’t like Corporal Buckshot?”

Both siblings roll their eyes in unison at the question.

“He’s  _ such _ a pain,” Carolina says. “Every time he comes to town I have to hear about that time my mother saved his life and how much like her I am and how  _ proud _ she would be of me. I get it, shut up.”

“He just doesn’t like me,” Church adds. “Something about me being blue? Which is, you know,  _ stupid _ , since he’s always over the moon about Cappy and Cappy is the bluest fucker there ever was.”

“I still don’t understand that,” Donut says. Church just shrugs.

“If you ask me, he’s off his rocker. Got blown up a few times back in the war, and that knocked a few screws loose.” Church circles his ear in the universally recognizable ‘cray cray’ motion, and glances over as Grif returns, scowling heavily. He snorts. “I take it you met Buckshot?”

Grif scowls even harder. “Dude, I don’t even want to talk about it.” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the parking lot. “Right, anyone riding with me, into the jeep.”

They head off to the parking lot. Church sighs, long and loud. “I  _ cannot wait _ till February. I’m tired of having to rely on Grif or Tucker whenever we go anywhere. Speaking of Tucker-”

“He’ll meet us later, he said he wanted to find Caboose first.”

“...why?”

“Fuck if I know, I’m just telling you what he said. So what kind of car is your dad buying you once you get your license?”

“What makes you think my dad is buying me a car?”

They all stop and stare at him. He sighs. “Yeah, all right. I’m getting a scorpion.”

“A scorpion? Those things are awful!”

“Yeah, but dad says it’s the closest thing you can get to having a tank shaped like a car and he thinks that’s the most important thing for a sixteen-year-old by. Plus, he did some dev work for the company that designed them, so he can get a good deal on a cheap one.”

Grif scoffs. “Man, what’s the point of being a spoiled rich boy if you’re not getting anything good out of it?”

“You’re telling me. I wanted a Mongoose.”

-/-

After checking in with Cappy about the party, and meeting Corporal Buckshot, Tucker heads off to find Caboose. It’s not hard; Caboose is the tallest fourteen-year-old Tucker has ever met and his thick, shaggy curls tend to stand out like a beacon. Tucker finds him with three of his sisters and one of his mothers; when he comes up, the little one- no more than two- squeals ‘Tugga!!’ and toddles over to cling to his leg.

“Hey there… squirt…” Tucker says, patting her head hesitantly. He can never remember any of the Caboose sisters’ names.

He’s saved by Mrs. Caboose reaching down to pick her up. “Hi Tucker,” she says. “Enjoy the play? Meghan here worked very hard on her Hermia, I thought she did very well.” She gestures at the elder of the three daughters present, a tall girl nonetheless dwarfed by her little brother.

“What? Oh, right! You were great, Meghan. Really well done.”

“You don’t even know which character  _ was _ Hermia,” Meghan protests.

“What am I, a Shakespeare detecting machine? I don’t have to know the characters to recognize you on stage and go ‘hey, she’s doing really good!’, do I?”

She squints at him, and folds her arms. “All right, fair enough. Are you going to the Dakota twins’ afterparty?”

The third sister, a middle schooler, looks up from her Game Buddy at that remark, a sudden light in her eyes. Tucker nods.

“Yeah, I came to get Caboose so he can come with me. Is that okay?” he adds at Mrs. Caboose.

She starts to respond, but before she can the middle-schooler says, “Can I go?!”

“No way!” Tucker says, and Mrs. Caboose shakes her head in agreement.

“No, Vera. It’s a high school party.”

“Yeah, not for middle schoolers.”

“Aw, but Mikey’s  _ barely _ in high school! Besides, it’s at the  _ Dakotas’ _ house! How am I supposed to meet South and become her best friend if I never get to  _ go _ anywhere she is?”

“Oh god, you wanna be friends with South? What’s wrong with you?” Tucker shudders. “I mean, she’s hot, but she’s also mean and scary.”

“She’s only mean and scary to people who deserve it,” Meghan says. “I’m not surprised to find she is to  _ you _ .” She eyes Caboose. “Mikey, why do you hang out with this guy?”

“Because he is my friend.”

“Yeah, and since we’re friends, I thought we could go to the party together. Please?”

He grabs Caboose’s hand and gives Mrs. Caboose his most pleading look; after an amused eyebrow raise, she shrugs. “All right, but have him home by curfew. You boys have fun tonight.”

“Yes, Mama! Come on, Tucker, let’s go!” He locks his fingers with Tucker’s better, and pulls him along toward the door, nearly jerking Tucker’s arm out of the socket until he manages to catch up, the two walking together hand-in-hand as they head out to Cappy’s car, which Tucker has use of for the night.

“Oh, hold on, I almost forgot.” Tucker leans through the open back window and, after a few minutes of wriggling around, pulls out a small gift bag tucked under one of the seats. He wiggles back out of the window and holds up the bag. “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

“Presents? Oh boy!” Caboose takes the bag with a grin and looks in, pushing aside tissue paper to reveal a teal headband with a bow on one bit. He takes it out and holds it up to admire it. “Thank you, Tucker! It is very pretty!”

“Here, lemme help.” He takes the headband and coaxes Caboose down so he can put it on, pushing his bangs up out of his eyes.

Tucker rarely gets to see Caboose’s eyes- he wears his hair long in the front, so it’s always covering them up. And they’re very  _ nice _ eyes, soft and warm and brown. Tucker can feel his face heating up, and he takes a hurried step back.

“Anyway, now you can see and maybe you won’t run into things quite so much. You like it?”

“Yes, it’s very nice. Um..” He hesitates, and reaches up to feel at his exposed forehead thoughtfully. Tucker takes a wild guess.

“Don’t worry, I made sure it would still cover up your scars. It just keeps your eyes clear.”

“Oh, well, then it is perfect!” Caboose beams, and takes Tucker’s hand again. “Thank you very much, Tucker!”

-/-

The party is already going strong by the time they arrive. Grif drags Simmons off in search of snacks and a quiet corner to make out in, while Carolina heads off to find South and tell her she'll be staying over after the party (“I thought you two didn't like each other,” Church had said, when she mentioned it again. Carolina had waved that away as unimportant. “Girls stick together,” she'd said. “Petty rivalries can't be allowed to get in the way of a sister in need. Also, she owes me a favor.”), leaving Donut and Church alone near the door. Church's scowl deepens.

“I just remembered why I never go to parties. I'm gonna go stand awkwardly next to the punch bowl and hope someone spikes it. York can usually be trusted with that sort of thing.” He heads off to do just that, leaving Donut to scan to room in search of Maine. He can't see him, and since Maine tends to stand out in crowds he takes that to mean he hasn't arrived yet. He heads off to the back yard instead; when Maine turns up (which he probably will, since he's friends with South) he can come find him.

-/-

“I don’t understand why you insist on dragging me to parties if all we’re going to do is stuff your face and then stand in a dark corner and make out. We can do both of those things just as easily at your house, and there’s less noise and people there.”

Simmons folds his arms, but Grif ignores him in favor of testing how many lady’s fingers he can fit into his hand at once. Once he’s established the number as twelve he grabs a glass of punch (not spiked yet, unfortunately: Grif hasn’t seen York around at all) and heads off to find somewhere quiet to consume his loot. Simmons follows him; Grif doesn’t even have to look to know that he’s there, and once they’ve stopped he holds out the cookies in his hand in offer.

“Three reasons,” he says, once he’s stuffed two of them into his mouth. “One, I like a change of scenery. We spend way too much time at my house and variety is nice. Two, the Dakotas always have the best snacks at their parties and South doesn’t bitch at me if I stuff my pockets before we leave.”

“Which is weird, because she bitches at every _ one _ else about every _ thing _ else.”

“Nah, South is great. You just have to know how to talk to her.”

“Which I don’t, I guess?”

“You don’t know how to talk to  _ any _ girl, doesn’t count.”

“What’s the third reason?”

“Hmm?” Grif considers this while he stuffs more lady fingers into his mouth, then shrugs. “I guess cause there’s music and we can dance?”

“We can do that at your house, too.”

“If we do it there it’s cheesy. Here it’s just a thing.”

“There is  _ one _ benefit to being at your house, though,” Simmons says. He presses against Grif and trails his hand suggestively down Grif’s front. “If we’re making out at your place and decide to take it farther, we don’t have to worry about a house full of party guests.”

Grif freeze, and catches Simmons’ hand. “Are you- saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Um. I think so. I mean.” He ducks his head in embarrassment. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since our talk. A lot. A  _ lot _ . And. I want to try. Just. Try. Um.”

Even in the dim light Grif can see the blush spreading across his cheeks. He pulls Simmons closer and kisses him. “I’ll try anything you want. But we don’t have to go home. We can take the jeep and find somewhere private.”

“What about Donut and Church?”

“Donut can get a ride home with Maine and Church lives just around the corner, he can walk if Tucker doesn’t turn up. He’ll probably be glad of an excuse not to go home and have to deal with Buckshot anyway.”

He already has his phone in his hand, and shoots off a text to the others about finding a new ride home. He doesn’t bother waiting for any confirmation before he grabs Simmons’ hand and pulls him toward the door.

-/-

Maine turns up not long after Donut gets Grif’s text. Donut pulls him through into the laundry room so they can talk without shouting.

The room is already occupied, it turns out. When they open the door Doc and Wash break apart like they’ve been electrocuted, putting a few feet of space between them like they can’t see how Wash’s hair is mussed or that Doc’s shirt has been half-untucked from his slacks. There’s a long, pregnant pause. Donut coughs delicately.

“Soooo… I guess this is a thing.”

Wash scowls. “Right. And you two are in here because…?”

“I needed to ask Maine something and it was too loud out there,” Donut says quickly, edging surreptitiously away from Maine.

“Right. So we’re still pretending you aren’t a thing, but we’re expected to just spill the beans right away?”

Which is… a fair point.

“Walked in on you kissing,” Maine grunts. Donut nods. Also a fair point.

“I don’t really mind who knows,” Doc admits. “My dads raised me not to be ashamed of who I am. But Wash wants to keep things quiet, and as his boyfriend, it’s my duty to respect that.”

“Wash has issues,” Maine says.

Wash folds his arms. “It’s not like either of you have any room to talk, you know. I mean, we don’t say anything but we all still  _ know _ .”

Donut’s stomach starts curling into knots again. “O-oh. You do?”

Doc exchanges a look with Maine, and then shakes his head. “Wash is exaggerating. We know because we’re your friends and know you both so well. Someone who didn’t know you that well would just assume you were close friends.” Doc takes Donut’s hand and pats it reassuringly. “Whatever reason you have for keeping quiet, it’s our place as your friends to respect that. Right Wash?”

He gives Wash a pointed look. Wash sighs. “Yeah. Right.”

Donut lets out a slow breath. “Who else knows?”

“Most of our friends.” Wash ticks off on his fingers thoughtfully. “Carolina, of course. Tucker. Grif. Probably Church and Simmons. Probably  _ not _ Caboose. Um. Maybe South? But that’s it.”

“Oh. That’s not so bad.” He tries to relax, to force the knots to untie themselves. All of the people Wash mentioned are his friends, people who care about him and that he can trust. Probably. He hopes. Wash frowns.

“Hey, are you okay? It’s not a big deal, you know. I just don’t want to deal with people telling me ‘I told you so’ when I admit I want to date someone after all.” Wash shrugs uncomfortably. “I mean… I spent a lot of time saying I wasn’t interested in dating and a lot of people spent a lot of time telling me I’d ‘change my mind when I met someone’ and then I… met someone… and I don’t want to deal with that, I just  _ don’t _ . But I mean, no one is gonna think less of you for it. You’re fine.”

“Easy for you to say,” Donut mumbles, and Doc is petting his hand again. He realizes he’s shaking. “I’ve heard that before, my- my friend Flynt used to tell me that, back in Valhalla, but, but that didn’t go too well when I was outed there. And Blood Gulch is almost the same as Valhalla. I don’t want to go through all that again.”

“You won’t have to,” Doc reassures him. “When and if you decide to come out, anyone who gives you a hard time will have your friends to deal with. We’ll be here to tell them they’re not being fair and that they should be less judgmental.”

Maine snorts at that, but doesn’t say anything. His arm is around Donut’s shoulders, Donut’s other hand is in his own, rubbing gentle circles on it with his thumb. Donut leans into him, grateful for the support.

-/-

Simmons leans back in his seat, breathing still a little ragged. He feels… weird. Sort of off-center and disoriented. There’s a thin sheen of sweat coating too-hot skin and his shirt is sticking to his back despite the cold. Outside the jeep, he’s pretty sure the world is spinning and the stars are falling.

Grif seems much more at ease; he snuggles into Simmons’ side with a content noise and doesn’t seem too bothered by the way their skin is on fire where they touch. Or maybe that’s just Simmons’ skin. Simmons fumbles with his glasses, cleaning them nervously on a corner of his discarded shirt. Grif grumbles at the movement.

“Well, that was. Something.”

He feels weird and off and a little bit gross. He’s pretty sure the last one is because of the sticky mess drying on his stomach, though. He pokes Grif in the side.

“Is there any hand sanitizer in the jeep?”

“No, but there’s a pack of baby wipes in the glove box.” Grif leans up over the seats to fish them out, then settles beside Simmons again. He leaves some space this time, though not much. He finally notices how off Simmons feels. “You okay? Was it… it was good, wasn’t it?”

“No. I mean yes, it was fine. I’m fine.” He takes out a few wipes and begins cleaning himself up. He feels a little better once he’s clean; he reaches over to put his shirt back on and that helps too. He still feels weird but at least he doesn’t feel gross anymore. Grif watches him through this, then reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder. His skin is less on fire now that it’s covered.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Hey, come on, talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.” He twitches his shoulder away from Grif’s hand, and sighs. He can’t lie to Grif. “I feel weird.”

“Is it the sex? Because if you didn’t enjoy it, that’s okay. Not everyone does.”

“It’s not that. I- I enjoyed it. I just- now I feel  _ weird _ . I don’t know how to explain it. Can we just sit quietly for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

He settles back into his seat, and Simmons is grateful that this time he puts more space between them. He tries to think, not that he’s calmed down a bit. The sex definitely felt good, there’s no denying that. He’d always thought it’d be nice to have someone else jerk him off, but he’d never thought it’d be nice if he was jerking someone else off at the same time. And it’s not Grif, because he likes touching Grif, likes it a lot. True, sometimes Grif can get a little clingy, but still. Touching is nice.

The world slowly stops spinning and the stars stop falling and he stops feeling like he’s on fire. He shifts over so he’s leaning on Grif, who puts an arm around his shoulder without a word.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are there baby wipes in the jeep?”

“Because this is the family vehicle and Sarge takes Dr. Grey on their dates in it sometimes.”

“Gross.”

“No. Kidding.”

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first wrote the first draft, Buckshot's role was filled by Doyle, because at the time I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with him and so having him be a general that Sarge and the others served under, who was passing through visiting, seemed apt. This was before we properly knew Doyle, and now my plans are much better served by having him be the school's secretary, so Buckshot was written into the role instead.
> 
> I was never too clear before about why Wash and Doc were closeted; I hope I've made things a bit clearer now.
> 
> Jimmy is fun to write. I regret leaving him out for thirty-five chapters after introducing him. I'll have to fix that this time around.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new couple emerges. Sarge's family gets a little bit bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this chapter has the most changes to it, with five brand new scenes and two that have been majorly changed.
> 
> Also, I accidentally lied last week; next chapter is the last one of the arc, not this one.

o/o

Not long after their encounter with Wash and Doc, Donut asks Maine to take him home. The little bit more he was willing to tell them has left him feeling drained and exhausted, and after his nerves of the morning and the stress of the play, he’s ready to head home and get some sleep.

They detour through to offer Church a ride home, but Tucker offers to take him later so he declines. They leave them then, while Tucker pulls Caboose into the crowd in the hopes of teaching him how to dance, and Church stands by the punchbowl scowling.

-/-

The punch still hasn’t been spiked. Church cranes his neck to scan the room, looking for York- where is he? It’s not like him not to turn up at a party, especially a party for North, and it’s also not like him not to spike any open punch bowls he sees.

While he’s searching, his eyes land on Tucker and Caboose again. Caboose isn’t much of a dancer- he goes through so many growth spurts that keeping his coordination is impossible. But Tucker had been determined to show him, and now his feet are taking a mangling as a result. Church feels a vindictive little spike of satisfaction pulse through him when he sees Tucker wince as his feet get crushed yet again. Serves him right.

“Man, if looks could kill, Caboose would be six feet under right now, and his grave would burst into flame on top of that.”

Church squawks and drops his punch, prompting a ‘Fuck! Watch it!’ from South, who has just appeared next to him. She dances out of the way, muttering swearwords to herself when the punch splashes her shoes anyway. She huffs.

“Nice going, dumbass. Mama just bought these for me, she’s gonna have a fit if you’ve ruined them.”

“Shouldn’t sneak up on me, then,” Church snaps, reaching down for his cup. When she glares at him, he rolls his eyes. “Oh wah wah. Fine, whatever. I’m  _ sorry _ . I’ll get you a new pair, it’s no big.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I said I would!”

There’s a pause. They both stare each other down, until South huffs and pours them both fresh glasses.

“So, Tucker, huh?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing. Just making conversation.”

“I take you haven’t resolved your unresolved sexual tension with Wash yet, then.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s a no.”

Silence. South sips her punch, then. “I can’t find him. I think he must have skipped. But I  _ told _ him I was going to kick his ass if he didn’t turn up. He should be here by now.”

“Yeah, nothing says romance like threatening the guy you’re into if he doesn’t come to a party so you can put the moves onto him.”

“Shut  _ up _ .”

“Anyway, Donut said he was in the laundry room.”

“The fuck is he doing in there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he feels more at home with the  _ wash _ .”

Another silence. South sips her punch, jaw clenched, and then finally snorts.

“Ha! Made you laugh.”

“You’re an idiot and your jokes are horrible.”

“So you gonna go talk to him or not?”

“You know? It’s gotta be better than talking to you.” She hands her glass to him. “Hold my punch.”

With that, and a new air of resolve, she throws her head back and heads in the direction of the laundry room. Church watches her go, mildly interested, and takes a sip of her punch as soon as she rounds the corner.

-/-

Tucker and Caboose come over to the punch bowl a minute after that. Tucker is limping, Church is pleased to see, but his spirits aren’t down, and Caboose has this big dumb cheerful look on his face that Church wants to wipe off of him. Church scowls at their hellos, and hands Tucker South’s punch without a word. Tucker takes it and downs the whole thing in one gulp, and then pouts at the glass.

“Hasn’t York been by yet?”

“Haven’t seen him.”

“Lame.”

Church starts to reply- probably something hilarious, he’s sure- but over Tucker’s shoulders he sees South round the corner, face red and splotchy and  _ angry _ . In the door, she stops in place and scans the room, until her eyes land on Church. She beelines to him, too fast for him to actually try getting away.

For just a flash, Church wonders if she’s upset about her punch, and then she has her hand fisted in his shirt and has him backed up against the table, staring hard at him.

“I’m very, very upset right now,” she says slowly, a deep measure of control that betrays how upset she really  _ is _ . “I need to get that out on someone who won’t complain if I leave bruises.” Her eyes flit downward, just for a second. “You game?”

Church’s eyes are wide, both at how forward she is and how  _ incredibly _ arousing this whole situation is for him. His gaze flicks toward Tucker, just for a second, barely a second, before flicking back to meet South’s eyes. There’s a weird stillness to her gaze that he rarely sees; she’s bypassed angry and gone to chillingly calm. He lets out a long, slow breath.

“Go for it,” he says, and then her lips are crushed against his, more teeth than anything, and she pulls away after only a few seconds and takes his hand, almost dragging him toward the stairs. This time he doesn’t even spare Tucker a glance.

-/-

“Hmm,” Tucker says, after they’re gone. “Maybe I  _ don’t _ want to be South’s rebound after all. That was terrifying. Guess she found out about Wash and Doc, huh?”

“It was only a matter of time,” Caboose agrees. He’s squinting at his punch. Tucker raises an eyebrow at him.

“Got a floater?”

“I am not sure. But I think I would like another glass anyway.” He leans over to open the window and dumps the punch out (below the window, there’s a shout and a cry of ‘Hey!’ from some unseen source), then tosses his empty cup into the trash can and starts on a fresh one.

While he’s doing that, a lanky boy with red-dyed tips in his hair ambles over to them. He’s smiling, but there’s something unsettling to his smile that makes Tucker move a little closer to Caboose instinctively.

“Hey,” the boy says, reaching over to pour himself some punch. “I’m looking for someone, I was hoping you could help me find him.”

“Depends on who he is.”

“His name is Frankie. Franklin Donut. You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend.” Tucker squints up at the other boy. “He’s not here.”

“No? What a shame.” The boy pouts a little. “Well, if you see him, will you tell him Jimmy was looking for him? He’s an  _ old _ friend of mine, and he’s been missing for awhile. I was hoping to reconnect with him.”

“I’ll uh, be sure to tell him that,” Tucker says. “Um, I really like this song. Come on Caboose, let’s go dance some more.”

“But I am drinking punch!”

“But I  _ really _ like this song!” He grabs Caboose’s hand and tries to pull him into the crowd and away from Jimmy, but moving Caboose if he doesn’t want to is impossible. Fortunately Caboose gets the idea soon, and follows him willingly after only a second. Once they’re away, Tucker cranes around to give Jimmy one last look- he looks grumpy, and is moving toward the back door- before sighing with relief.

“Okay,” he says. “We are  _ never _ telling that guy where Donut is. Got it?”

“Why? He says he’s a friend! And Donut misses his friends from his old school.”

“Yeah, well… somehow I get the feeling this guy is more friends with Donut than Donut is with him, that’s all. I just get a bad vibe from him.”

“Okay. Then we will make sure he can’t find Donut if Donut doesn’t want him to.”

-/-

Carolina joins up with Tucker next. He tries to get her to dance with him, but she refuses, and threatens to hit him when he asks again.

“Have you seen South?” she asks, after he holds up his hands in surrender. “I wanted to tell her I’m sleeping over tonight.”

“Uh… that might not work out…” Tucker rubs his neck awkwardly. “See, she and your brother, kinda… uh… you know how I wanted to be South’s rebound? She uh, she missed.”

Carolina stares at him for a full minute, then sighs. “Great. Now what am I supposed to do?”

“You can hang out with us,” Caboose suggests. “We are dancing!”

Carolina gives him an amused smile. “Thanks, Caboose, but I mean I don’t feel like going home tonight, so I need someone to sleep over with.”

“I would let you stay at my house, but I am not allowed to have girls sleep over,” Caboose says. He frowns. “But I do not understand why? Papa says that it is just not seemly.”

“I’d offer, but Cappy says no more last-minute sleepovers since it took a week to get Church to go home last time.”

“Sounds like my brother is ruining everything tonight,” Carolina sighs. “Thanks anyway. I’ll think of something. Seen Wash anywhere?”

“Laundry room. I think Doc is in there with him, though, that’s why South, uh… yeah, that’s why that happened.”

“Doc? But I thought Maine…” She trails off, and shakes her head. “Never mind.”

-/-

Carolina is still trying to figure out what to do about her night when she runs into York, coming down the stairs with a pout. He smiles when he spots her, though, and throws an arm around her shoulder.

“Hey there, Carolina~ What’s up?”

“Hi, York. Haven’t seen you around tonight.”

“I was hanging out with North but he kicked me out so he could do homework without me ‘distracting’ him.” He makes air quotes around distracting, and pouts again. “I guess I could go spike the punch or something. What about you? Having fun?”

“I’m not really a party person,” she says. “I was only here because I was going to sleep over with South, but she…”

She trails off, and York winces. “Yeah, she uh… we heard. A lot. Your brother is… loud. And sweary.”

  
“...and now I don’t have anyone to stay with tonight, and I’ll have to go home,” she says, deciding not to touch the subject of her brother’s sexual habits. She gives York a look. “Unless you want to take me away from all of this?”

“Sure, no problem.” He fishes around his pocket for his keys, and twirls them playfully at her, squawking slightly when he whacks himself in the face. “Ow.”

Carolina laughs, covering her mouth in embarrassment when she inadvertently snorts, and then grabs his keys from him.

“Come on, you can give me a driving lesson.”

She ducks out from under his arm and heads off, York trailing after her and trying not to look worried. “Uh, Carolina? You’re going to be careful with my baby, right? She’s delicate… and you’ve only had your permit two weeks… Carolinaaaa…”

-/-

Donut is asleep when his phone buzzes beside his head. He opens his eyes and squints blearily at the screen, trying to make his brain wake up enough to tell him what’s going on. After a few more insistent buzzes, he registers that Tucker is calling and pulls the phone to him.

“‘Lo?” He yawns. “Hi, Tucker.”

“Hey, Donut. You okay, dude? You seemed kinda bummed earlier.”

Oh. Donut sits up. He’s a little more awake now. “I’m fine. I’d just had a really emotionally draining conversation with Wash and Doc and Maine and I just wanted to rest.”

“Okay, that’s cool. Hey, there was someone looking for you at the party, guy named Jimmy? He said he was an old friend of yours.”

“...oh.”

Something in Donut’s tone must alert Tucker to his mood, because Tucker makes a thoughtful noise on the other end of the line. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Not a friend?”

“It’s… complicated.” Donut considers how much to tell him, and remembers that Wash claims all their friends know anyway. He takes a deep breath and decides to just do it. “He’s my ex.”

He waits for Tucker to comment, but he doesn’t, and instead, “Does  _ he _ know that?”

“I mean, I’ve told him. I don’t think he agrees. He didn’t take it well.”

“Creep,” Tucker says. “Right, I’ll tell him to fuck off if he’s sniffing around again, and I’ll pass the word along to everyone else.”

“Thanks, Tucker. Sooo… anything good happened after I left?”

“Well, Church and South bumped uglies.”

“Church and  _ South _ ? But I thought she…”

“Wash? Yeah, but he’s going out with Doc.”

“Yeah, I know. So I guess she found out?”

“She walked in on them with their tongues down each other’s throat, according to Doc. Well, that’s not what Doc said, but I read between the lines, right? Apparently she’d been planning to make her move, but that was her stupid mistake. Everyone knows Wash isn’t into dating. Even if he wasn’t dating Doc- it’s not like South ever had a chance.”

“Wait, how do  _ you _ know about Wash and Doc? I only found out tonight.”

“Yeah, guess who Wash called when he was in the middle of his dumb romo panic over Thanksgiving? Guy was high as balls on pain-killers and crying cause he had feelings for his best friend and what was he supposed to do about it? Like, come on, man, why are you calling  _ me _ ?”

“What’d you tell him?”

“To go for it, duh! Why do you  _ think _ he was calling me? Cause he knew I was gonna tell him to get it, and not beat around the bush about it. Bow chika bow wow.”

“Right. So Church and South, huh?”

“Yeah. Dunno if they’re a thing or not, I haven’t talked to them since then. So who knows?”

“I feel bad for South, though.”

“Hey, she’s the one with the bad taste. I mean, come on.  _ Wash _ ?”

A blush spreads across Donut’s cheeks at that, and he buries his face in his free hand with an incoherent mumble. Tucker goes quiet for a second, and then, “Oh, come on, not you  _ too _ .”

“Look, I just- I just-” Donut groans. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay. Will it make you feel better if I tell you about  _ my  _ crush? I guarantee it’s more embarrassing than you joining the huge club of people with a boner for Wash.”

“You could phrase that better, but sure.” Donut perks up. He likes the idea of gossip. “Is it Church?”

“What? No! Dude, he’s my best friend, I’m not- into that.” He says all this very quickly, quickly enough that Donut raises an eyebrow at his phone, but he doesn’t say anything. He hears Tucker flop over onto his bed, before, “It’s Caboose,” he says very quietly.

“Really?” Donut considers this, and grins. That explains all the touching, then. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

“I don’t know. I want to? I just- you know, he seems like this big dumb idiot but then when I started hanging out with him it’s like- he’s not  _ smart _ but he’s really sweet and friendly and- and he’s always holding my hand and he always looks so excited to see me and- and-” He trails off, clearly embarrassed, and Donut’s grin widens.

“That’s sweet.”

“No it’s not, it’s pathetic.”

“No, it’s  _ sweet _ . You should ask him out. You two would be good together.”

“You think?”

“Of course I do! I have a sixth sense about romance, I can tell these things.”

“You only found out about Wash and Doc tonight.”

“I can  _ usually _ tell these things.”

They both fall into silence for a few minutes, and Donut says, “Hey Tucker?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for not saying anything about- you know- when I basically came out earlier.”

“Wait what? Were we not supposed to know already?”

“I mean, no? I was trying to be subtle.”

“That’s dumb. I mean, look how many of your friends are gay. Look how many have gay parents. Why would you even bother? Everyone’s going to assume it just cause you’re hanging out with us anyway.”

“My parents kicked me out when they found out.”

The silence returns, a lot more uncomfortable this time. Tucker breaks this one.

“Your parents suck, dude.”

“Yeah. But I’m putting it behind me. You’re right, there are a lot of openly gay people in our school and- and if nothing has happened to them yet-”

“You don’t have to come out if you’re not ready.”

“According to you everyone already knows anyway.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to confirm it.”

“Well…” Donut trails off, thinking to all the couples he sees holding hands at school, and how much he wants to be able to kiss Maine in front of people and go on real dates. How patient Maine has been. He smiles. “Maybe I want to.”

“Well, go for it, then.”

“Thanks.” Donut yawns then, and stretches. “I should go back to sleep. We’ve got an early day tomorrow, Dr. Grey is going to upstate to pick up her cousin from boarding school and we’re having him over for dinner. Sarge wants us up early getting the house clean.”

“Gross. I’ll let you go, then. Night.”

“Night.”

They hang up, and Donut lays down, pulling his blankets up to his chin thoughtfully. He doesn’t want to make a big production out of coming out- maybe he can try just being quietly out, like his friends. None of them felt the need to make some big speech.

Maybe next time he sees Maine he can try just… holding his hand. Yes, maybe it’ll be best to start small.

-/-

The next day is kind of hectic, with Sarge keeping Donut, Grif, and Kai busy getting the house clean for guests. Lopez is the lucky one; he has work, so all he has are dishes before he leaves. Grif drops him off since his truck is currently being repaired, and then it’s back to work once he gets back- which for Grif means doing as little as possible while still pretending he’s helping.

By five they’re done, and Donut goes up to his room and flops out on his bed. He likes cleaning, but it’s still tiring. At least everything looks nice and presentable for Dr. Grey’s cousin. Even though Dr. Grey technically has custody of him, being away at boarding school means that they haven’t had the chance to meet him yet, and Sarge wants to make a good impression for some reason.

He’s barely made himself comfortable than there’s a knock at the door and Grif is throwing his coat at him.

“Come on,” he says. “It’s time to pick up Lopez and you’re getting another driving lesson.”

“Aww, but I’m  _ tired _ .” Donut sits up and pouts. “Okay, fine, just give me a minute to change.”

“What’s wrong with what you’ve got on?”

“It’s dirty!” Donut gives him a pained look, and looks down at his clothes- they’re his housecleaning clothes, and there’s dust and bleach stains all over them.

“We’re just going to the garage. It’s not like it matters.”

“It matters to  _ me _ !” He tugs his shirt off and balls it up before throwing it at Grif, who gets the point and closes the door.

It doesn’t take long to change, and then they’re headed out to the Jeep. Donut takes the keys from Grif hesitantly on their way across the yard.

“It’s not  _ that _ hard,” Grif says, hopping into the passenger’s seat. “Seriously, no big. Just be careful you don’t crash, we don’t need another totalled car on our hands.”

“It’s not totalled,” Donut protests. “The front end is just a bit… crumpled.”

“Yeah, tell that to Lopez.”

-/-

Donut hasn’t had much practice driving. He only got his permit a few weeks ago, and there just hasn’t been a lot of time for lessons. Sarge and Grif and sometimes Lopez have all taken him up and down their dirt road a few times in the jeep, but driving on actual roads, with actual traffic, is still fairly new territory for him. It doesn’t help that Grif clearly doesn’t trust him behind the wheel- though in fairness to him, Donut  _ did _ run Lopez’s truck into a ditch last week-, or that he keeps remembering when he was a kid and his dad would plonk him in the driver’s seat of their old beat-up Ford and take him driving in the field behind their farm. 

He could only just see over the steering wheel, and Daddy had always been right there at his side ready to take over if something happened, and the Ford was so old and battered that it couldn’t clear twenty miles an hour anyway, but for a ten year old whose relationship with his father was always so rocky, it had been heaven to feel the wind on his face and Daddy at his side while he bumped and banged his way over the field.

“Eyes on the road, Donut,” Grif says, snapping Donut back to reality. He nods and glances at the mirrors to make sure he’s steady, and gives Grif the quickest reassuring look he can muster.

Fortunately the garage where Lopez works isn’t  _ that _ far from the house, and the traffic is not that heavy. They make it there with no incident beyond holding up Mr. Simmons at the turn-off on the end of their road, and head inside to wait for Lopez in the warm office.

Grif’s friend Connie is on reception today, and when they come in she waves cheerily at them before sticking her head through the door into the garage. “Hey Lopez! Sus hermanos están aquí!”

“No son mis hermanos! Deje de llamarlos eso!” Lopez appears in the doorway, looking cross. “Déjame terminar este coche y voy a estar listo.”

“Lo que digas.” She waves him back into the garage and shrugs at the boys. “He'll be a few minutes. Oh, hang on.” She pokes her head back through the door. “¿Los ha hablado de que el bebé todavía? No quiero derramar accidentalmente los frijoles.”

“¡No! Mantén tu boca cerrada!”

“Lo tengo!”

She makes a motion of zipping her lips, then comes back to the desk and grins at them. “So how have you two been? I saw your play last night, Donut, you were super-cool. Gonna go into acting for real?”

He shrugs, and the three of them fall to chatting while they wait, though Donut seems distracted by a thought he’s trying to solidify. After a few minutes of conversation they’re joined by a tall blonde girl, maybe two or three years older than them at best. There’s grease and oil smudged on her face and arms, and Connie tosses her a rag when she comes in.

“Have you guys met Texas yet? She just moved here a few weeks ago. Tex, this is Grif and Donut, they’re Lopez’s… family.”

Tex wipes her face and hands off and tosses the rag back, then grabs the spare desk chair. She spins it so she can sit on it backwards, and rests her arms on the back so she can study them openly. There’s an easy-going air to her, but running beneath that is the sense of a tightly-wound spring, ready to uncoil at any moment and take everything around down with it. Grif feels the oddest urge to cross his legs around her.

“Nice to meet you, Tex,” Donut says cheerily, oblivious to the energy crackling around them. “Where did you move here from?”

“Nevada.”

The deadpan tone she delivers this in leaves Grif unsure about whether she’s serious, but Donut takes her at her word and grins. “I’ve never been to Nevada before! Is it nice there?”

She shrugs. “It’s okay. Kinda warm.” She studies them for a moment. “Okay, so Lopez has talked about you, so let’s see.  _ You’re _ the lazy one who’s smarter than he lets on, and  _ you’re _ the one who listens to show tunes when you think no one can hear.” She glances at Connie. “Have I got it?”

“On the money,” Connie says. “Though you can usually identify Grif because he’s always joined at the hip with a freckly ginger in glasses. Where’s Simmons?”

Grif scowls. “He’s got family stuff today.”

“And now you’re pouting because you have to spend a few hours apart,” Tex says, and nods. “You know, I thought Lopez was exaggerating you guys but he sounds pretty spot on.”

“Lopez talks about us?”

“All the time. Usually complaining. He sounds pretty fond of you.”

Grif snorts. “Please. Lopez only puts up with us because he has to.”

“Suit yourself.” Tex rests her chin on one palm. “My Spanish  _ is _ still pretty weak. So what fun things are there to do in this backwater hell, anyway?”

“We have a movie theatre. The farmer’s market is kinda fun if you don’t mind getting up that early. Sometimes we have dances at school. If you have skates there’s the lake. If you feel like making the drive there’s Spiral, it’s about forty-five minutes away and there’s more to do there.” Grif shrugs. “Other than that, not much. Mostly we just hang out at each other’s houses and play video games all day.”

Tex scowls at that. “I can’t believe my parents moved me to this godawful place so close to graduation. Do you at least have races?”

“They have them up in Valhalla,” Donut pipes in. “I used to go to them all the time with my- with my ex. It’s on the upper side of Valhalla so a bit of a drive, but worth it if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“Great!” Tex claps her hands together. “Now all I need is a good car and someone to drive it. Know anyone?”

“Grif can drive.”

“Donut!”

“Grif is a great driver.”

Grif makes a disgruntled noise, but he doesn’t get to respond before Lopez comes out. He gestures for them to come on, but as they’re leaving Tex grabs Grif’s hand to hold him back. She takes a marker off the desk and holds the cap between her teeth while she writes her number across the back of his hand.

“Here,” she says, once she’s capped the pen. “I’m going to look into getting a car and a crew. If you’re not a pansy and are actually as good as your buddy here says, give me a call and we’ll talk.”

-/-

“So tell me about these races, Donut,” Grif says, once they’re on their way home. “Any money in them?”

“There’s prize money for winning races. There’s an entry fee for each one and the winning crew gets a cut of the pool. And there’s bets unofficially, too. If you’re good and you’re smart, you can make some pretty hefty money.” Jimmy had made lots of money at the races- he’d had a winning streak so long that the word ‘cheater’ had been whispered among some of the other crews. Donut hugs himself and pushes the memory away. “You should consider it. You’re a really good driver- you could win, I know it.”

Grif glances at the number on the back of his hand. He’ll definitely consider it. He wants to buy his own car, and he wants to start putting up money to move back to Hawaii after graduation, and for him and Simmons to live on once they’re there. He figures if he starts saving now, they’ll have plenty of padding while they’re trying to get on their feet- especially if he can make the kind of money Donut is suggesting.

He glances at the number again, and pulls his eyes back to the road. This may be something to look into.

-/-

Dr. Grey and her cousin arrive just as Donut is taking the last batch of fried chicken from the pan. He switches the stove off and leaves the chicken to drain while he goes to let them in and meet this newest addition to his new family.

Sarge is helping Dr. Grey out of her coat; her eyes are glittering with her usual excitement. Her cousin is slipping out of his own jacket and hood, and Donut waits to take them from him, studying him curiously. He’s about Donut’s height, or right at it, with the same even brown skin and dark, bushy curls as Dr. Grey. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and an impassive, calculating look on on his face, and Donut feels like he’s under a lot of scrutiny.

“This is Locus,” Dr. Grey says cheerily. “Locus, this is Donut, and this is Sarge.”

“Hello.”

His voice is deeper and calmer than any eighteen-year-old Donut has ever met. He fixes Locus with his most dazzling smile. 

“Hi~! Dr. Grey has told us  _ loads _ about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Locus just raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure,” he says. He falls silent, and looks around; Donut recognizes the lost look on his face and decides to rescue him. He grabs Locus’s hand.

“Come on, I’ll show you around and introduce you to everyone. Dinner won’t be till Sheila gets here.”

“Sheila?”

“Lopez’s girlfriend. She’s just running a little bit late from work, but it won’t be long. You’ll like her, she’s really nice. Come on~” He half-leads, half-drags Locus through the house, chattering about anything he can think of in the hopes of getting him to relax.

Their tour brings them up to Grif’s room; the door is open and they can see Grif and Kai sprawled across Grif’s bed, stringing up colorful beads from a pile between them. Every time Kai picks up a bead, she holds it up and squints at it before asking Grif what color it is. Sometimes she’ll put it down and pick up another one, and sometimes she’ll add it to her end of the string.

“Hi guys,” Donut says, dragging Locus into the room. “Dr. Grey is here and this is Locus. Dinner will be ready as soon as Sheila gets here so you should start wrapping up. Locus, this is Grif, and Kai.”

Locus looks between them as they start picking the beads up, a thoughtful furrowing his brow. “Do you not know your colors?” he asks. Kai just shakes her head, but Grif glares.

“She’s colorblind and it’s none of your business.”

Locus blinks, and takes a step back. He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him up, so Donut takes pity on him and points out the window, where a pair of headlights can be seen pulling up outside. “Looks like Sheila is here,” he says. “Come on, Locus, I’ll introduce you. Hurry down, guys~”

Donut leaves with Locus in tow, while Kai and Grif finish putting away their beads.

Downstairs, Sarge and Dr. Grey are setting the table for dinner. Donut leaves Locus with them while he goes to take his bread out of the oven, and soon enough everyone is settled around the table while Sarge says grace. They dig into their food, warm conversation passing freely between them. Locus speaks Spanish, it turns out, and he and Lopez get into a conversation that as far as Donut’s limited understanding of Spanish can tell, is about socket wrenches.

The conversation recalls something Donut was thinking about earlier, and he frowns down at his chicken while he tries to remember.

Grif, meanwhile, is talking to Sheila about his Simmons situation.

“He hasn’t spoken to me since I dropped him off last night,” he says. “I know something is bothering him, but he won’t say what.”

“Maybe he needs space to figure that out himself,” Sheila suggests. She touches his hand gently, in her usual comforting maternal way. “Instead of trying to make him talk to you, try taking a step back and let him sort his own head out first.”

“But I just want to be there for him.”

“Sometimes being there for someone means  _ not _ being there for a little while. Right, Dr. Grey?”

“Oh, absolutely! It will probably also help him think if you’re not hovering right there over his shoulder. He might feel pressured to find an answer sooner if you are.

“I guess.” Grif picks dejectedly at his chicken.

Across the table, Donut finally looks up, a confused look on his face. “Wait a second,” he says. “What baby?”

Beside Grif, Lopez and Sheila exchange a conversation in a single look. Lopez reaches for her hand under the table, and turns his gaze to his plate.

“Mierda.”

o/o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Carolina and York's friendship is going to be my favorite new addition to the rewrite, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? Check out some of my other fic! You can also find behind the scenes material at my Tumblr, at 'grifalinas'.


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